^ LONG 


tIANE  L.  STEWART 


THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 


Camp  Fire  Girls  Series,  Volume  III 

« 

The  Camp  Fire  Girls 
at  Long  Lake 

or 

Bessie  King  in  Summer  C^mp 

by 

JANE  L.  STEWART 

□ 

The  Saalfield  Publishing  Company 
Chicago  Akron,  Ohio  New  Yoik 


Copyright,  1914 

The  Saalfield  Publishing-  Company 


The  Camp  Fire  Girls 

/ 

at  Long  Lake 

CHAPTEE  I 

A GEOUNDLESS  JEALOUSY 

“I  told  you  we  were  going  to  be  bappy  berCj 
didn’t  I,  Zara?” 

Tbe  speaker  was  Dolly  Eansom,  a black-haired, 
mischievous  Wood  Gatherer  of  the  Camp  Fire 
Girls,  and  a member  of  the  Manasquan  Camp 
Fire,  the  Guardian  of  which  was  Miss  Eleanor 
Mercer,  or  Wanaka,  as  she  was  known  in  the 
ceremonial  camp  fires  that  were  held  each  month. 
The  girls  were  staying  with  her  at  her  father’s 
farm,  and  only  a fevv  days  before  Zara,  who  had 
enemies  determined  to  keep  her  from  her  friends 
of  the  Camp  Fire,  had  been  restored  to  them, 
through  the  shrewd  suspicions  that  a faithless 
friend  had  aroused  in  Bessie  King,  Zara’s  best 
chum. 

Zara  and  Dolly  were  on  top  of  a big  wagon, 
half  filled  with  new  mown  hay,  the  sweet  smell 
of  which  delighted  Dolly,  although  Zara  who  had 
lived  in  the  country,  knew  it  too  well  to  become 


4 


THE  CAMP  PIPE  GIELS 

wildly  entlniaiastie  over  an3H;liing  tliat  was  so 
coimnonplace  to  her.  Below  them,  on  the  ground, 
two  other  Camp  Fire  Girls  in  the  regular  work- 
ing costume  of  the  Camp  Fire— middy  blouses 
and  wide  blue  bloomers— were  tossing  up  the  hay, 
tinder  the  amused  direction  of  Walter  Stuhhs, 
one  of  the  hoys  who  worked  on  the  farm. 

“I’m  awfully  glad  to  he  here  with  the  girls 
again,  Dolly,”  said  Zara.  “No,  that’s  not  the 
way!  Here,  use  your  rake  like  this.  The  way 
you’re  doing  it  the  wagon  w’on’t  hold  half  as 
much  hay  as  it  should.” 

“Is  Bessie  acting  as  if  she  was  your  teachei’, 
Margery!”  Dolly  called  down  laughingly  to  Mar- 
gery Burton,  who,  because  she  was  always  laugh- 
ing, was  called  Minnehaha  hy  the  Camp  Fire 
Girls.  “Zara  acts  just  as  if  we  were  in  school, 
and  she’s  as  superior  and  tiresome  as  she 
can  he.” 

“She’s  a regular  farm  girl,  that  Zara,”  said 
Walt,  with  a grin.  “Knows  as  much  about 
packin’  hay  as  I do— ’most.  Bessie,  thought 
you’d  lived  on  a farm  all  yer  life!  Zara  there 
can  heat  yer  all  hollow  at  this.  You’re  only 
gettin’  half  a pickful  every  time  yon  toss  the 
hay  up.  Here— let  me  show  you!” 

“I’d  be  a pretty  poor  teacher  if  I tried  to  show 
Margery,  Dolly,”  laughed  Bessie  King.  . “You 
hear  how  Walter  is  scolding  me!” 

“He’s  quite  right,  too,”  said  Dolly,  with  a little 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


&■ 


pent.  “You  know  too  inueh,  Bessie— I ‘m  glad  to- 
find  there’s  something  yon  don’t  do  right.  Yon 
ninst  be  stupid  about  some  things,  just  like  the 
rest  of  us,  if  you  lived  on  a'  farm  and  don’t  know 
how  to  pitch  hay  properly  after  all  these  years ! ’ ’ 

Bessie  laughed,  Dolly’s  smile  was  ample  proof 
that  there  was  nothing  ill  natured  about  her 
little  gibe. 

“Girls  on  farms  in  this  country  don’t  work  in 
the  fields— the  men  wouldn’t  let  thein,”  said 
Bessie.  ‘They’d  rather  have  them  stay  in  a hot 
kitchen  all  day,  cooking,  and  washing  dishes. 
And  when  they  want  a change,  the  men  let  them 
chop  wood,  and  fetch  water,  and  run  around  t» 
collect  the  eggs,  and  milk  the  cows,  and  churn 
butter  and  fix  the  garden  truck!  Oh,  it’s  easy  for 
girls  and  women  on  a farm — all  they  have  to  do 
is  a few  little  things  like  that.  The  men  do  all 
the  h^rd  work.  You  wouldn’t  let  your  wife  do 
more  than  that,  would  you,  Walter?” 

The  boy  flushed. 

“When  I get  married,  I’m  aimin’  to  have  a 
hired  gal  to  do  all  them  chores,”  he  said.  “They’s 
some  farmers  seem  to  think  when  they  marry 
they’re  just  gettin’  an  extra  lot  of  hired  help 
they  don’t  have  to  pay  fer,  but  we  don’t  figger 
that  way  in  these  parts.  'No,  ma’am.” 

He  looked  shyly  at  Dolly  as  he  spoke,  and 
Dolly,  who  was  an  accomplished  little  flirt,  saw 


6 


THE  CAMP  FIKE  GIELS 


the  look  and  understood  it  very  well.  She  tossed 
her  pretty  head. 

“You  needn’t  look  at  me  that  way,  "Walt 
Stubbs,”  she  said.  “I’m  never  going  to  marry 
any  farmer— so  there!  I’m  going  to  marry  a rich 
man,  and  live  in  the  city,  and  have  my  own  auto- 
mobile and  all  the  servants  I want,  and  never  do 
anything  at  all  unless  I like.  So  you  needn’t 
waste  your  breath  telling  me  what  a good  time 
your  wife  is  going  to  have.” 

Walter,  already  as  brown  as  a berry  from  the 
hot  sun  under  which  he  worked  every  day,  turned 
redder  than  he  had  been  before,  if  that  was 
possible.  But,  wisely,  he  made  no  attempt  to  an-, 
swer  Dolly.  He  had  already  been  inveigled  into 
two  or  three  arguments  with  the  sharp  witted  girl 
from  the  city,  and  he  had  no  mind  for  any  more 
of  the  cutting  sarcasm  with  which  she  had  with- 
ered him  up  each  time  just  as  he  thought  he  had 
got  the  best  of  her. 

Still,  in  spite  of  her  sharp  tongue  and  her  fond- 
ness for  teasing  him,  Walt  liked  Dolly  better  than 
any  of  the  girls  from  the  city  who  were  staying 
on  the  farm,  and  he  was  always  glad  to  welcome 
her  when  she  appeared  where  he  was  working, 
even  though  she  interrupted  his  work,  and  made 
.it  necessary  for  him  to  stick  to  his  job  after  the 
others  were  through  in  order  to  make  up  for  lost 
time.  But  Dolly  had  little  use  for  him,  in  spite 
of  his  obvious  devotion,  which  all  the  other  girls 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


7 


had  noticed.  And  this  time  his  silence  didn’t 
save  him  from  another  sharp  thrust. 

“Goin’  to  that  ice  cream  festival  over  to  the 
Methodist  Church  at  Deer  Crossin’  to-night?” 
she  asked  him,  trying  to  imitate  his  peculiar 
country  accent. 

“I’m  aimin’  to,”  he  said  uncomfortably. 
“You  said  you  was  goin’  to  let  me  take  you. 
Isn’t  that  so?” 

“Oh,  yes— I suppose  so,”  she  said,  tossing  her 
head  again.  “But  I never  said  I’d  let  you  bring 
me  home,  did  I?  Maybe  I’ll  find  some  one  over 
there  I like  better  to  come  home  with,’-’ 

Walter  didn’t  answer,  which  proved  that, 
young  as  he  was,  and  inexperienced  in  the  way» 
of  city  girls  like  Dolly,  he  was  learning  fast.  But 
just  then  a bell  sounded  from  the  farm,  and  the 
girls  dropped  their  pitchforks  quickly, 

“Dinner  time!”  cried  Margery  Burton,  hap- 
pily. “Come  on  down,  you  two,  and  we’ll  go 
over  to  that  big  tree  and  eat  our  dinner  in  the 
shade.  Walter,  if  you’ll  go  and  fetch  us  a pail 
of  water  from  the  spring,  we  ’ll  have  dinner  ready 
when  you  get  back.  And  I bet  you’ll  be  surprised 
when  you  see  what  we’ve  got,  too— something 
awfully  good.  We  got  Mrs.  Farnham  to  let  us 
put  up  the  best  lunch  you  ever  saw!” 

“Yes  you  did!”  gibed  Walter.  He  wasn’t  half 
as  much  afraid  of  Margery  and  the  other  girls, 
who  never  teased  him,  as  he  was  of  Dolly  Ran- 


8 


THE  CAMP  PIEE  GIELS 


som,  and  he  didn’t  like  them  as  well,  either.  Per- 
haps it  was  jnst  because  Doily  made  a point  of 
teasing  him  that  he  was  so  fond  of  hei*.  But  he 
picked  up  the  pail,  obediently  enough,  and  went 
otf.  When  he  was  out  of  hearing  Bessie  shook 
her  finger  reproachfully  at  Dolly. 

“I  thought  you  w’ere  going  to  be  good  and  not 
tease  Walter  any  more!”  she  said,  half  smiling. 

'“Oh,  he’s  so  stupid— it’s  just  fun  to  tease  him, 
and  he’s  so  easy  that  I just  can’t  help  it!”  said 
Dolly. 

“1  don’t  think  he’s  stupid— I think  he^'s  a very 
nice' boy,”  said  Bessie.  “Don’t  you,  Margery?” 

“I  certainly  do,  Bessie— much  too  nice  for  a 
little  flirt  like  Dolly  to  torment  him  the  way  she 
does.” 

“Well,  if  you  two  like  him  so  much  you  can 
have  him,  and  welcome!”  cried  Dolly,  tossing  her 
head.  “I’m  sure  I don’t  want  him  tagging 
around  after  me  all  the  time  tlie  way  he  does.  ’ ’ 

“Better  be  careful,  Dolly,”  advised  Margery, 
who  knew  her  of  old.  “They  say  pride  goes  be- 
fore a fall,  and  if  you’re  not  nice  to  him  you  may 
have  to  come  home  from  the  festival  to-night  with- 
out a beau— and  you  know  you  wouldn’t  like 
that.  ” 

“I’d  just  as  soon  not  have  a beau  at  all  as  have 
some  of  these  boys  around  here,”  declared  Dolly, 
pugnaciously.  “I  like  the  country,  but  I don’t 
see  why  the  people  have  to  be  so  stupid.  They’re 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


9 


not  half  as  bright  as  the  ones  we  know  in  the 
city.” 

‘‘I  don’t  know  about  that,  Dolly.  Bessie’s  from 
the  country,  but  I think  she’s  as  bright  as  most 
of  the  people  in  the  city.  They  haven’t  been  able 
to  fool  her  very  much  since  she  left  Hedgeville, 
you  know.” 

‘‘Oh,  I didn’t  mean  Bessie!”  cried  Dolly, 
throwing  her  arms  aroimd  Bessie’s  neck  affec- 
tionately. “You  know  I didn’t,  don’t  you,  dear? 
And  I’m  only  joking  about  half  the  time  anyhow, 
when  I say  things  like  that.” 

“Here  comes  Walter  now— we’ll  see  whether 
he  doesn’t  admit  that  this  is  the  best  dinner  he 
over  ate  in  the  fields!”  said  Margery. 

It  was,  too.  There  was  no  doubt  at  all  about 
that.  There  were  cold  chicken,  and  rolls,  and 
plenty  of  fresh  butter,  an(i  new  milk,  and  hard 
boiled  eggs,  that  the  girls  had  stuffed,  and  a lus-< 
ciousi  blueberry  pie  that  Bessie  herself  had  been 
allowed  to  bake  in  the  big  farm  kitchen.  They 
made  a great  dinner  of  it,  and  Walter  was  loud  in 
his  praises. 

“That  certainly  beats  what  we  have  out  here 
most  days!”  he  said.  “We  have  plenty— but  it’s 
just  bread  and  cold  meat  and  water,  as  a rule, 
and  no  dessert.  It’s  better  than  they  get  at  most 
farms,  though,-  at  that.  ’ ’ 

When  the  meal  was  finished  the  girls  quickly 
made  neat  parcels  of  the  dishes  that  were  to  be 


10 


THE  CAMP  PIPE  GIELS 


taken  back,  and  all  the  litter  tbat  remained  under 
the  tree  was  gathered  up"  in  to  a neat  heap  and 
burned. 

‘‘My,  but  you’re  neat!”  exclaimed  Walter,  as 
he  watched  them. 

“It’s  one  of  our  Camp  Fire  rules,”  explained 
Margery.  “We’re  used  to  camping  out  and  eat- 
ing in  the  open  air,  you  know,  and  it  isn’t  fair  to 
leave  a place  so  that  the  next  people  who  camp 
out  there  have  to  do  a lot  of  work  to  clean  up 
after  you  before  they  can  begin  having  a good 
time  themselves.  We  wouldn’t  like  it  if  we  had 
to  do  it  after  others,  so  we  try  always  to  leave 
things  just  as  we’d  like  to  find  them  ourselves. 
And  it  wouldn’t  be  good  for  the  Camp  Fire  Girls 
if  people  thought  we  were  careless  and  untidy.” 

Then  they  got  back  to  work  again,  and  the  long 
summer  afternoon  passed  happily,  with  all  four 
of  the  girls  doing  their  share  of  the  work.  The 
,sun  was  "still  high  when  they  had  finished  their 
work,  and  Walter  gave  the  word  to  stop  happily, 
since  he  wanted  time  to  put  on  his  best  clothes  for 
the  trip  to  Deer  Crossing,  where  the  ice  cream  fes- 
tival was  to  be  held.  Such  festivities  were  rare 
enough  in  the  country  to  be  made  mightily  wel- 
come when  they  came,  especially  when  the  date 
chosen  was  a Saturday,  since  on  Sunday  those 
who  worked  in  the  fields  every  other  day  of  the 
week  could  take  things  easily  and  lie  abed  late. 

“Well,  I’ll  see  all  you  girls  again  to-night,”  he 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


11 


said.  “I’ll  be  along  after  supper,  Dolly— don’t 
forget.  We’re  goin’  to  ride  over  together  in  the 
first  wagon.” 

“All  right,”  said  Dolly,  smiling  at  him,  and 
winking  shamelessly’  at  Bessie.  “Don’t  forget 
to  put  on  that  new  blue  necktie  and  to  wear  those 
pink  socks,  Walter.” 

“I  sure  won’t,”  he  said,  not  having  Seen  her 
wink,  and,  as  he  turned  away,  Dolly  looked  at 
Bessie  with  a gesture  of  comic  despair. 

“I  think  it’s  very  mean  to  laugh  at  Walter’s 
clothes,  Dolly,”  said  Bessie.  “They’re  not  a bit 
sillier  than  some  of  the  things  the  boys  in  the 
city  wear,  are  they,  Margery?” 

“I  should  say  not— not  half  as  foolish.  I’ve 
seen  some  of  your  pet  boys  wearing  the  sort  of 
clothes  one  would  expect  men  at  the  racetrack  to 
wear,  and  nobody  else,  Dolly.  You  w^ant  to  get 
over  thinking  you’re  so  much  better  than  every- 
one else— if  you  don’t,  it’s  going  to  make  you 
unhappy.  ’ ’ 

Once  they  were  at  the  ice  cream  festival,  where 
all  the  girls  and  young  fellows  from  miles  around 
seemed  to  have  gathered,  Dolly  seamed  prepared 
to  have  a very  good  time,  however.  She  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion,  and,  though  she, 
like  Bessie  and  most  of  the  Camp  Fire  Girls, 
would  not  take  part  in  the  kissing  games  that 
were  popular,  she  wasn’t  a bit  stitf  or  superior. 

“I  wonder  where  that  nice  boy  that  thrashed 


12 


THE  CAMP  FIEB  GIELS 


Jake  Hoover  is?”  slie  asked  Bessie,  after  they;' 
had  been  there  for  a while. 

“Oh,  that’s  whom  you’re  looking  for!”  ex- 
claimed Bessie,  with  a laugh.  “Will  Burns,  you 
mean?  That’s  so,  Dolly— he  said  he  was  coming- 
here,  didn’t  he?” 

“He  certainly  did.  I’d  like  to  see  him  again, 
Bessie.  He  wasn’t  as  stupid  as  most  of  these 
country  boys.” 

“Tie  was  splendid,”  said  Bessie,  w-armly.  “If 
it  hadn’t  been  for  him,  I might  net  be  here  now'', 
Dolly.  .Jake  would  have  got  me  back  into  the 
other  state— he  was  strong  enough  to  make  me  go 
wEere  he  wanted.  And  if  I’d  been  caught  there, 
they’d  have  made  me  stay.” 

“There  he  is  now!”  exclaimed  Dolly,  as  a tall, 
sunburned  boj''  appeared  in  the  doorway.  “I 
was  beginning  to  be  afraid  he  wasn’t  coming  at 
all.” 

Will  Burns,  who  was  a cousin  of  Walter 
Stubbs,  seemed  to  be  well  known  to  the  young 
people  of  the  neighborhood,  though  his  home  was 
near  Jericho,  some  twmnty  miles  away.  He  was 
greeted  on  all  sides  as  he  made  his  way  through 
the  Sunday  School  room,  wdiere  the  festival  was 
being  held,  and  it  was  some  minutes  before  the 
girls  from  the  farm  saw  that  he  was  nearing 
them. 

“Well— well,  so  you  got  home  all  right?”  he 
said,  smiling  at  Bessie.  “I  thought  you  wouldn’t 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


13 


\ have  any  more  trouble,  once  yon  got  on  the  train, 
pm  glad  to  see  yon  again.” 

( And  then  Dolly’s  vanity  got  a rnde  shock.  For 
"will  Burns  began  to  devote  himself  at  once,  after 
lie  had  greeted  Dolly  and  been  introduced  to  Zara 
and  some  of  the  other  girls,  to  Bessie.  Everyone 
in  the  room  soon  noticed  this,  and  since  most  of 
the  girls  there  had  tried  to  make  him  pay  atten- 
tion to  them,  at  one  time  or  another,  his  evident 
fondness  for  Bessie  caused  a little  sensation. 
Dolly,  so  surprised  to  find  a boy  she  fancied  will- 
ing to  talk  to  anyone  else  that  she  didn’t  know 
what  to  do,  stood  it  as  long  as  she  could,  and  then 
went  in  search  of  Walter  Stubbs,  whom  she  had 
snubbed  unmercifully  all  evening. 

But  Walter  had  at  last  plucked  up  courage 
enough  to  resent  the  way  she  treated  him,  and  she 
found  that  he  had  bought  two  plates  of  ice  cream 
for  Margery  Burton  and  himself,  and  that  they 
were  sitting  in  a corner,  eating  their  ice  cream, 
and  talking  away  as  merrily  as  if  they  had  known 
one  another  all  their  lives ! 

Eleanor  Mercer,  who  had  come  over  to  have  an 
eye  on  the  girls,  saw  the  little  comedy.  She  waa 
sorry  for  Dolly,  who  was  sensitive,  but  she  knew 
that  the  lesson  would  be  a wholesome  one  for  the 
little  flirt,  who  had  been  flattered  so  much  by 
the  boys  in  the  city  that  she  had  come  to  believe 
that  she  could  make  any  boy  do  just  what  she  de- 
sired. So  she  said  nothing,  even  when  Dolly,  with- 


14  THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 

out  a single  boy  to  keep  her  in  countenance,  was 
redueed  to  sitting  with  one  or  two  other  girls  who 
were  in  the  same  predicament,  since  there  were 
more  girls  there  than  boys. 

Walter  did  not  even  come  to  get  her  to  ride 
home  with  him.  Instead,  he  found  a place  with 
Margery  Burton,  and  Dolly  had  to  climb  into  her 
wagon  alone.  There  she  found  Bessie. 

“You’re  a mean  old  thing,  Bessie  King!”  she 
said,  half  crying. 


CHAPTEE  II 

GOOD-BYE  TO  THE  FARM 

Dolly  had  spoken  in  a low  tone,  her  sobs  seem- 
ing to  strangle  her  speech,  and  only  Bessie,  who 
was  amazed  by  this  outburst,  heard  her.  Grieved 
and  astonished,  she  put  her  arin  about  Dolly,  but 
the  other  girl  threw  it  off,  roughly. 

“Don’t  you  pretend  you  love  me — I know  the 
mean  sort  of  a cat  you  are  now!”  she  said,  bit- 
terly. 

“Why,  Dolly!  Whatever  is  the  matter  with 
you!  What  have  I done  to  make  you  angry!” 

“If  you  were  so  mad  at  me  the  other  day  for 
getting  you  into  that  automobile  ride  with  Mr. 
Holmes  you  might  have  said  so — instead  of  pre- 
tending that  you’d  forgiven  me,  and  then  turning 
around  and  making  everyone  laugh  at  me  to-night ! 
You’re  prettier  than  I am— and  cleverer— but  I 
think  it’s  pretty  mean  to  make  that  Burns  boy 
spend  the  whole  evening  with  you!” 

Gradually,  and  very  faintly,  Bessie  began  to 
have  a glimmering  of  what  was  wrong  with  her 
friend.  She  found  it  hard  work  not  to  smile,  or 
even  to  laugh  outright,  but  she  resisted  the  temp- 
tation nobly,  for  she  Imew  only  too  well  that  to 
Dolly,  sensitive  and  nervous,  laughter  would  be 

15 


16 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


just  tlie  one  thing  needed  to  make  it  harder  than 
ever  to  patch  up  this  senseless  and  silly  quarrel, 
■which,  so  far,  was  only  one  sided. 

To  Bessie,  who  thought  little  of  boys,  and  to 
whom  jealousy  was  alien,  the  idea  that  Dolly  was 
really  jealous  of  her  seemed  absurd,  since  she 
knew  how  little  cause  there  was  for  such  a feel- 
ing, But,  very  wisely,  she  determined  to  proceed 
slowly,  and  not  to  do  anything  that  could  possibly 
give  Dolly  any  fresh  cause  of  offence. 

“Dolly,”  she  said,  “you  mustn’t  feel  that.  way. 
Eeally,  dear,  I didn’t  do  that  at  all.  I talked 
to  him  when  he  came  to  sit  down  by  me,  but  that 
was  all.  I couldn’t  very  well  tell  him  to  go  away, 
or  not  answer  him  when  he  spoke  to  me,  could  I?” 

“Oh,  I know  what  you’re  going  to  say— that  it 
was  all  his  fault.  But  if  you  hadn’t  tried  to  make 
him  come  he  wouldn’t  have  done  it.” 

“I  didn’t  try  to  make  him  come,  Dolly.  Did 
you?” 

Dolly  stared  at  her  a moment.  Thq  question 
seemed  to  force  her  to  give  attention  to  a new 
idea,  to  something  she  had  not  thought  of  before. 
But  when  she  spoke  her  voice  was  still  defiant. 

“Suppose  I did!”  she  said,  angrily.  “I  wanted 
to  have  a good  time— and  he  was  the  nicest  boy 
there — ” 

‘ ‘ Maybe  he  saw  that  you  were  waiting  for  him 
too  plainly,  Dolly,  Maybe  he  wanted  to  pick  out 
someone  for  himself— and  if  you’d  pretended  that 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


17 


you  didn’t 'care  whether  he  talked  to  you  or  not 
he  would  have  been  more  anxious  to  be  with 
you.  ” 

Dolly  blushed  slightly  at  that,  though  it  was 
too  dark  for  Bessie  to  see  the  color  in  her  cheeks. 
She  knew  very  well  that  Bessie  was  right,  but 
she  wondered  how  Bessie  knew  it.  That  feigned 
indifference  had  brought  her  the  attentions  of  more 
than  one  boy  who  had  boasted  that  he  was  not 
going  to  pay  any  attention  to  her  just  because 
everyone  else  did. 

But  the  gradually  dawning  suspicion  that  she 
might,  after  all,  have  only  herself  to  blame  for  the 
spoiling  of  her  evening’s  fun,  and  that  she  had 
acted  in  rather  a silly  fashion,  didn’t  soften  Dolly 
particularly.  Very  few  people  are  able  to  re- 
cover a lost  temper  just  because  they  find  out, 
at  the  height  of  their  anger,  that  they  are  them- 
selves to  blame  for  what  made  them  angry,  and 
Dolly  was  not  yet  one  of  them. 

“I  suppose  you’ll  tell  all  the  other  girls  about 
this,”  she  said.  She  wasn’t  crying  any  more,  but 
her  voice  was  as  hard  as  ever.  ‘‘I  think  you’re 
horrid— and  I thought  I was  going  to  like  you 
so  much.  I think  I’ll  ask  Miss  Eleanor  to  let  me 
share  a room  with  someone  else.” 

Bessie  didn’t  answer,  though  Dolly  waited  while 
the  wagon  drove  on  for  quite  a hundred  yards. 
Bessie  was  thinking  hard.  She  liked  Dolly;  she 
was  sure  that  this  was  only  a show  of  Dolly’s 


18  TPIE  QAMP  FIEE  GIRLS' 

temper,  ■vvliieli,  despite  tlie  restrictions  tliat  sur- 
rounded her  in  her  home,  and  had  a good  deal  to 
do  with  her  mischievous  ways,  had  never  been 
properly  curbed. 

But,  though  Bessie  was  not  angry  in  her  turn, 
she  understood  thoroughly  that  if  she  and  Dolly 
were  to  continue  the  friendship  that  had  begun  so 
promisingly,  this  trouble  between  them  must  he 
settled,  and  settled  in  the  proper  fashion.  If 
Dolly  were  allowed  to  sleep  on  her  anger,  it  vrould 
he  infinitely  harder  to  restore  their  relations  to 
a friendly  basis. 

“I  suppose  you  don’t  care!”  said  Dolly,  fin- 
ally, when  she  decided  fhat  Bessie  was  not  going 
to  answ’er  her. 

And  now  Bessie  decided  on  a change  of  tactics. 
She  had  tried  arguing  with  Dolly,  and  it  had 
seemed  to  do  no  good  at  all.  Itxwas  time  to  see 
if  a little  ridicule  would  not  he  more  useful. 

“I  didn’t  say  so,  Dolly,”  she  answered,  very 
quietly.  And  she  smiled  at  her  friend.  “What’s 
the  use  of  my  saying  anything?  I told  you  the 
truth  about  what  happened  this  evening,  and  you 
didn’t  believe  me.  So  there’s  not  much  use  talk- 
ing, is  there?” 

“You  know  I’m  right,  or  you’d  have  plenty  to 
talk  about,”  said  Dolly,  unhappily.  “Oh,  I wish 
we’d  never  seen  Will  Burns!” 

“I  wish  we  hadn’t  seen  him  until  to-night, 
Dolly,”  said  Bessie,  gravely.  “You  know,  that 


AT  LONO  LAKE 


19 


trip  in  the  automobile  with  Mr.  Holmes  the  o&ar 
day  waisn’t  very  nice  for  me,  Dolly.  If  they  had 
caught  me,  as  Mr.  Holmee  had  planned  to  do,  I’d 
have  been  taken  back  to  Hedgeville,  and  bound 
pver  to  Farmer  Weeks— and  he’s  a miser,  who 
hates  me,  and  would  have  been  as  mean  to  me  as 
he  could  possibly  be.  That’s  how  we  met  Will 
Burns,  you  know— because  you  insisted  on  going 
with  Mr.  Holmes  in  his  car  to  get  an  ice  cream 
soda.” 

“That’s  just  what  I said— you  pretended  to  for- 
give me  for  that,  and  you  haven’t  at  all— you’re 
still  angry,  and  you  humiliated  me  before  all  those 
people  just  to  get  even!  I didn’t  think  you  were 
like  that,  Bessie— I thought  you  were  nicer  than 
I.  But-” 

“Dolly,  stop  talking  a little,  and  just  think  it 
over.  You  say  you  didn’t  have  a good  time,  and 
you  mean  that  you  didn’t  have  a boy  waiting 
around  to  do  what  you  told  him  all  evening.  Isn’t 
that  so?” 

“All  the  other  girls  had  boys  around  them  all 
the  time—’?  I 

“You  went  with  Walter  Stubbs,  didn’t  you? 
And  you  told  him  that  maybe  you’d  come  home 
with  him  and  maybe  you  wouldn’t— and  that  if 
anyone  you  liked  better  came  along  you  were  go- 
ing to  stay  with  them.  You  didn’t  know  Will 
Burns  was  coming,  did  you?” 

“No,  but— I thought  if  he  did  come—” 


20  THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 

“That’s  just  it.  You  didn’t  think  about  Walter 
nt  all,  did  you?  You  wanted  to  have  a good  time 
yourself— and  you  didn’t  care  what  sort  of  a time 
he  had?  You  just  thought  that  if  Will  Burns 
did  come  he  was  sure  to  want  to  be  with  you,  and 
so,  as  soon  as  you  saw  him  come  in  you  sent 
Walter  off.  Oh,  you  were  silly,  Dolly— and  it  was 
nil  your  own  fault.  Don’t  you  think  it’s  rather 
mean  to  blame  me?  We  were  together  when  Will 
Burns  was  coming  toward  us,  and  I wanted  to  go 
away  and  let  you  stay  there— but  you  said  I must 
stay.  Don’t  you  remember  that?” 

Dolly,  as  a matter  of  fact,  had  quite  forgotten 
it.  But  she  remembered  well  enough,  now  that 
Bessie  had  reminded  her  of  it.  And,  though  she 
had  a hot  temper,  and  was  fond  of  mischief,  Dolly 
was  not  sly.  She  admitted  it  at  once. 

“I  do  remember  it  now,  Bessie.” 

“Well,  don’t  you  see  how  absurd  it  is  to  say 
that  I took  Will  away  from  you?  We  were  both 
there  together— I couldn’t  tell  when  we  saw  him 
coming  that  he  was  going  to  talk  to  me,  could  11 
And  listen,  Dolly— he  asked  me  to  go  home  with 
him  in  his  buggy,  and  I said  I wouldn’t.’’ 

With  some  girls  that  would  have  made  the 
chance  of  mending  things  very  remote.  But  Dolly, 
although  her  jealousy  had  been  so  quickly  aroused, 
was  not  the  sort  to  get  still  angrier  at  this  fresh 
proof  that  she  had  been  mistaken  in  thinking  that 
Will  Burns  had  liked  her  better  than  Bessie. 


A.T  LONG  LAKE 


21 


“'Why,  Bessie— why  did  you  do  that?” 

Bessie  laughed. 

“We’re  not  going  to  be  here  very  much  longer,  , 
are  we,  Dolly?”  she  said.  “Well— if  we’re  not 
going  to  be  here,  we’re  not  going  to  see  much  of 
Will  Burns.  You’re  not  the  only  giid  who— was 
—who  thought  that  he  ought  to  be  j)aying'  more 
attention  to  her  than  to  me.  There  was  a pretty 
girl  from  Jericho,  and  he’s  known  her  a long 
time.  "Walter  told  me  about  them.. 

“And  I oould  see  that  she  wanted  him  to  drive 
her  home,  so  I asked  him  why  he  didn’t  do  it. 
And  he  got  very  much  confuted,  but  he  went  over 
to  her,  finally,  and  she  looked  just  as  happy  as 
she  could  he  when  he  handed  her  up  into  his 
buggy,  and  they  all  went  off  along. the  road  to- 
gether, "Will  and  she  and  two  or  three  other  fel- 
lows who  had  driven  over  together  from  Jericho.” 

Dolly’s  expression  had  changed  two  or  three 
times,  very  swiftly,  as  she  listened.  Now  she 
sighed,  and  her  hand  crept  out  to  find  Bes.sie’s. 

“Oh,  Bessie,”  she  said,  softly,  “vv-on’t  you  for- 
give me,  dear?  I’ve  made  a fool  of  myself  again 
-^I’m  always  doing  that,  it  seems  to  me.  And 
every  time  I promise  myself  or  you  or  someone 
not  to  do  it  again.  But  the  trouble  is  there  are 
so  many  different  ways  of  being  foolish.  I seem 
to  find  new  ones  all  the  time,  and  every  one  is  so 
different  from  the  others  that  I never  know  about 
it  until  it’s  too  late.” 


22 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


never  too  late  to  find  out  one’s  been  in 
tbe  wrong,  Doily,  if  one  admits  it.  There  aren’t 
many  girls  like  you,  who  are  ready  to  say  they’ve 
been  wrong,  no  matter  how  well  they  know  it.  I 
haven’t  anything,  to  forgive  you  for— so  don’t 
let’s  talk  any  more  about  that.  Everyone  makes 
mistakes.  If  I thought  anyone  had  treated  me  as 
you  thought  I had  treated  you  to-night  I’d  have 
been  angry.^  too.” 

Poor  Dolly  sighed  disconsolately. 

“ You’re  the  best  friend  I ever  had,  Bessie,” 
she  said.  “I  make  everyone  angry  with  me,  and 
when  I say  I’m  sorry,  they  pretend  that  they’ve 
forgiven  me,  but  they  haven’t,  really,  at  all. 
That’s  why  I said  that  about  your  still  being 
angry  with  me.  I thought  you  must  be.  I really 
am  going  to  try  to  be  more  sensible.” 

And  so  the  little  misunderstanding,  which  might 
easily,  had  Bessie  been  less  patient  and  tactful, 
have  grown  into  a quarrel  that  would  have  ended 
their  friendship  before  it  was  well  begun,  was 
smoothed  over,  and  Dolly  and  Bessie,  tired  but 
happy,  went  upstairs  to  their  room  together,  and 
were  asleep  so  quickly  that  they  didn’t  even  take 
the  time  to  talk  matters  over. 

Eleanor  Mercer,  standing  in  the  big  hall  of 
the  farm  house  as  the  girls  went  upstairs,  smiled 
after  Dolly  and  Bessie. 

“I  think  you  thought  I was  foolish  to  put  those 
two  in  a room  together,”  she  said  to  Mrs.  Earn- 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


33 


ham,  the  motherly  housekeeper,  whom  Eleanor 
'had  known  since,  as  a little  girl,  she  had  played 
about  the  farm. 

“I  wouldn’t  say  that.  Miss  Eleanor,”  said  Mrs. 
Farnham.  ‘‘I  didn’t  see  how  they  were  going  tc 
get  along  together,  because  they  were  so  differ* 
ent.  But  it’s  not  for  me  to  say  that  you’re  fool** 
ish,  no  matter  what  you  do.” 

“Oh,  yes,  it  is,”  laughed  Eleanor.  “You  used 
to  have  to  tell  me  I was  foolish  in  the  old  days, 
when  I wanted  to  eat  green  apples,  and  all  sorts 
of  other  things  that  would  have  made  me  sick, 
and  just  because  I’m  grown  up  doesn’t  keep  me 
from  wanting  to  do  lots  of  things  that  are  just 
as  foolish  now.  But  I do  think  I was  right  in 
that.” 

“They  do  seem  to  get  on  well,”  agreed  Mrs. 
Farnham. 

“It’s  just  because  they  are  so  different,”  said 
Eleanor.  “Dolly  does  everything  on  impulse— 
she  doesn’t  stop  to  think.  ’With  Bessie  it’s  just 
the  opposite.  She’s  almost  too  old— she  isn’t  im- 
pulsive enough.  And  I think  each  of  them  will 
work  a little  on  the  other,  so  that  they’ll  both  bene- 
fit by  being  together.  Bessie  likes  looking  after 
people,  and  she  may  make  Dolly  think  a little 
more. 

“There  isn’t  a nicer,  sweeter  girl  in  the  whole 
Camp  Fire  than  Dolly,  but  lots  of  people  don’t 
like  her,  because  they  don’t  unders-?-nd  her.  Oh, 


pfiTT-'iT' 
_L  ,i.X 


C- 


FIEE  GISL 


I’m  sure  it’s  going  to  be  splendid  for  both  of  them. 
Dolly  was  awfully  angrj’  at  Bessie  before  they 
started  from  the  church — but  you  saw  how  they' 
were  wdien  they  got  here  to-night?” 

^‘1  did,  indeed,  Miss  Eleanor.  And  I’d  say 
Dolly  has  a high  temper,  too,  just  to  look  at  her.” 

“Oh,  she  has— and  Bessie  never  seems  to  get 
angry.  I don’t  understand  that— it’s  my  worst 
fault,  I think.  Losing  my  temper,  I mean. 
Though  I’m  better  than  I used  to  be.  Well- 
good-night.  ’ ’ 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and,  of  course,  there 
was  none  of  the  work  about  the  farm  that  the 
girls  of  the  Camp  Fire  had  enjoyed  so  much.  They 
weut  to  church  in  the  morning,  and  when  they  re- 
turned Bessie  was  surprised  to  see  Charlie  Jamie- 
son, the  lawyer,  Eleanor  Mercer’s  cousin,  sitting 
on  the  front  piazza.  Eleanor  took  Bessie  with  her 
wEen  she  went  to  greet  him. 

“No  had  news,  Charlie?”  she  said,  anxiously. 
He  was  looking  after  the  interests  of  Bessie  and 
of  Zara,  whose  father,  unjustly  accused  as  Charlie 
and  the  girls  believed,  of  counterfeiting,  was  in 
prison  in  the  city  from  which  the  Camp  Eire 
Girls  came.  Charlie  Jamieson  had  about  decided 
that  his  imprisonment  was  the  result  of  a con- 
spiracy in  which  Parmer  Weeks,  from.  Bessie’s 
home  town,  Hedgeville,  was  mixed  up  with  a Mr. 
Holmes,  a rich  merchant  of  the  city.  The  reason 
for  the  persecution  of  the  two  girls  and  of  Zara’s 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


.25 


fatlier  was  a mystery,  bat  Jamieson  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  solve  it. 

‘E'To— not  bad  news,  exactly,”  he  said.  ‘‘Bat 
I’ve  had  a talk  with  Holmes,  and  I’m  worried, 
Eleanor.  You  know'^,  that  wans  a pretty  bold  thing 
he  did  the  other  day,  when  he  trapped  Bessie  into 
going  v/ith  him  for  an  auto^niobile  ride  and  tried 
to  kidnap  her.  That ’s  a serious  offence,  and  a 
man  in  Holmes’s  position  in  the  city  wmaldn’t  be 
mixed  up  in  it  unless  there  was  a very  important 
reason.  And  from  the  way  he  talked  to  me'  I ’m 
more  convinced  than  ever  that  he  will  just  be  wait- 
ing for  a chance  to  try  it  again.” 

“What  did  he  say  to  you,  Charlie!” 

“Oh,  nothing  very  definite.  He  advised  me  to 
drop  this  case.  He  reminded  me  that  he  had  a 
good  deal  of  influence— and  that  he  could  bring 
me  a lot  of  business,  or  keep  it  away.  And  he  said 
that  if  I didn’t  quit  meddling  with  this  business 
I’d  have  reason  to  feel  sorry.” 

“What  did  you  tell  him!” 

“To  get  out  of  my  office  before  I kicked  bim 
out!  He  didn’t  like  that,  I can  tell  you.  But  I 
noticed  that  he  got  out.  But  here’s  the  point. 
Are  you  still  planning  that  camping  trip  to  Long 
Lake!” 

“Yes— I think  it  would  be  splendid  there.” 

“Well,  why  don’t  yoii  start  pretty  soon!  Holmes 
knows  this  country  very  well,  and  he ’s  got  so 
much  money  that,  if  he  spends  it,  he  can  probably 


26  THE  CAMP  FIKE  GIELS  ! 

find  people  to  do  what  lie  wants.  Up  there  it’s 
lonely  country,  and  pretty  wild,  and  you  could 
keep  an  eye  on  Bessie  and  Zara  even  better  than 
you  can  here.  I don’t  know  why  he  wants  to 
have  them  in  his  power,  but  it’s  quite  evident  that 
their  plans  depend  on  that  for  success,  and  our 
best  plan,  as  long  as  we’re  in  the  dark  this  way, 
and  don’t  know  the  answer  to  all  these  puzzling 
things,  is  to  keep  things  as  they  are.  I’m  con- 
vinced that  they  can’t  do  anything  that  need  worry 
us  much  as  long  as  we  have  Bessie  and  Zara  safe 
and  sound.” 

‘AVe  can  start  to-morrow,”  said  Eleanor. 
“Bessie— will  you  tell  the  girls  to  get  ready?  I’ll 
go  and  make  arrangements,  Charlie.” 

And  so,  the  next  day,  after  lunch,  the  Camp 
Fire  Girls,  waving  their  hands  to  kindly  Mrs. 
Farnham,  and  making  a great  fuss  over  Walter, 
who  drove  them  to  the  station,  said  good-bye,  for 
the  time,  at  least,  to  the  farm.  And  Dolly  Ran- 
som, Bessie  noticed,  took  pains  to  be  particularly 
nice  to  Walter  Stubbs, 


CHAPTER  III 


LONG  LAKE 

“I  love  travelling,”  said  Dolly,  when  they  were 
settled  in  their  places  in  the  train  that  was  to  take 
them  up  into  the  hills  and  on  the  first  stage  of 
the  journey  to  Long  Lake.  “I  like  to  see  new 
places  and  new  neople.” 

“Dolly’s  never  content  for  very  long  in  one 
place,”  said  Eleanor  Mercer,  who  overheard  her 
remark,  smiling.  “If  she  had  her  way  she’d  be 
flying  aU  over  the  country  all  the  time.  Wouldn’t 
you,  Dolly?” 

“I  don’t  like  to  know  w^hat’s  going  to  happen 
next  all  the  time,”  said  Dolly. 

“I  know  just  how"  you  feel,”  Bessie  surprised 
her  by  saying.  ‘ ‘ I used  to  think,  sometimes,  when 
I was  on  Paw  Hoover’s  farm  in  Hedgeville,  that- 
if  only  I could  go  to  sleep  some  nig*ht  without 
knowing  just  what  was  going  to  happen  the  next 
day  I’d  be  happy.  It  was  always  the  same,  too— 
just  the  same  things  to  do,  and  the  same  places 
to  see—” 

“I  should  think  Jake  Hoover  would  have  kept 
you  guessing  what  he  was  going  to  do  next,”  said 
Doily,  spitefully.  ‘ ‘ The  great  big  bully ! Oh,  how 
glad  I was  when  Will  Burns  knocked  him  down 
the  other  day ! ’ ’ 


27 


28 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


‘‘Yes/’  admitted  Bessie^  “I  didn’t  know  jnsti 
what  Jake  was  going  to  tell  Maw  ^oover  ahont  \ 
me  next— hut  then,  you  see,  I always  knew  it  was  t 
something  that  vrould  get  me  into  trouble,  and  I 
that  I’d  either  get  beaten  or  get  a scolding  and! 
have  to  do  without  my  supper.  So  even  about  I 
that  it  wasn ’t  very  difficult  to  Imow  what  was  1 
going  to  happen,”  j 

“Heavens— I’d  have  run  away  long'before.  you 
did,”  said  Dolly,  with  a shudder,  “I  don’t  see 
how  you  ever  stood  it  as  long  as  you  did,  Bessie.  1 
It  must  have  been  awful.  ” , i' 

“It  was,  Dolly,”  said  Eleanor,  gravely.  “I  was| 
there,  and  I made  a point  of  looking  into  things,' 
so  that  if  anyone  ever  blamed  me  for  helping; 
Bessie  and  Zara  to  get  away,  I could  explain  that: 
I hadn’t  just  taken  Bessie’s  word  for  things.  But' 
running  away  was  a pretty  hard  thing  to  do.  It’s 
easy  to  talk  about— but  where  was  Bessie  to  go? 
She  isn’t  like  you— or  she  wmsn’t. 

“She  didn’t  have  a lot  of  friends,  who  would 
have  thought  it  was  just  a fine  joke  for  her  to 
have  run  off  that  way.  If  you  did  it,  you’d  have  a 
good  time,  and  when  you  got  tired  of  it,  you’d  go 
back  to  your  Aunt  Mabel,  and  she’d  scold  you  a 
little,  and  that  would  be  the  end  of  it.  You  must 
have  thought  of  trying  to  get  away,  Bessie,  didn’t 
you?” 

“Oh,  I did.  Miss  Eleanor,  often  and  often. 
"When  Jake  was  very  bad,  or  Maw  Hoover  was 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


29 


meaner  tlian  usual.  But  it’s  just  as  you  say.  I 
was  afraid  that  wherever  I went  it  would  he  worse 
than  it  was  there.  I didn’t  know  where  to  go  or 
what  to  do.  ’ ’ 

“ Well--that’s  so,” ‘said  Dolly.  “It  must  have 
been  awfully  hard.  But  then,  how  did  you  ever 
get  the  nen^e  to  do  it  at  ail,  Bessie?  That’s  what 
I don’t  understand.  The  way  you  act  now^,  it 
seems  as  if  you  always  w'-anted  to  do  just  as  you 
are  told.” 

“I  thought  you’d  heard  all  about  that,  Dolly. 
You  see,  when  we  really  did  run  aivay,  we  couldn’t 
help  it,  Zara  and  I.  And  I don’t  believe  v/e  really 
meant  to  go  quite  away,  the  way  we  did— not  at 
first.  You  remember  when  we  saw  you  girls 
first— when  you  were  in  cam^p  in  the  woods?” 

“Oh,  yes;  I remember  seeing  you,  with  your 
head  just  poking  out  of  the  door  of  that  funny 
old  hut  by  the  lake.  I thought  it  was  awfully 
funny,  but  I didn’t  know  you  then,  of  course.” 

“I  expect  you’d  have  thought  it  was  funny 
wLether  you  knew  us  or  not,  Dolly.  Well,  you  see, 
Zara  had  come  over  to  see  me  the  day  it  all  hap- 
pened, and  Jake  caught  her  talking  v/ith  me,  and 
locked  her  in  the  ■woodshed.  Maw  Hoover  didn’t 
like  Zara,  because  she  was  a foreigner,  and  Maw 
thought  she  stole  eggs  and  chickens- but  Zara 
never  did  such  a thing  in  her  life.  So  Jake  locked 
her  in  the  woodshed,  and  said  that  he  was  going 
to  keep  her  there  till  Maw  Hoover  came  home. 
She’d  gone  to  town.” 


THE  CAMP  EIRE  GIRLS 


^^0 

‘‘MHay  did  lie  want  to  do  that?” 

^‘Because  Maw  had  said  that  if  she  ever  caught 
Zara  around  their  place  again  she  was  going  to 
take  a stick  to  her  and  heat  her  until  she  was 
hlack  and  blue^and  I ghess  she  meant  it,  too. 
She  liked  to  give  people  heatings— me,  I mean. 
She  never  touched  Jake,  though,  and  she  never 
helieved  he  did  anything  wrong.” 

Dolly  whistled. 

”If  she  k?iew  him  the  way  I do,  she  would,”  she 
said.  ”And  I’ve  only  seen  him  twice — hut  that’s 
two  times  too  many!” 

“Well,  after  he’d  locked  her  in,  Jake  went  off, 
and  I tried  to  let  her  out.  I couldn’t  find  the  key, 
and  I was  trying  to  break  the  lock  on  the  door 
with  a stone.  I’d  nearly  got  it  done,  when  Jake 
came  along  and  found  me  doing  it.  So  he  stood 
off  and  threw  hits  of  burning  wood  from  the  fire 
near  me,  to  frighten  me.  That  was  an  old  trick 
of  his. 

‘ ' But  that  time  the  woodshed  caught  fire,  and 
he  was  scared.  He  got  the  key,  and  we  let  Zara 
out,  and  then  he  said  he  was  going  to  tell  Maw 
Hoover  that  we’d  set  the  place  on  fire  on  pur- 
pose. I knew  she’d  believe  him,  and  we  were 
frightened,  and  ran  off.” 

“Well,  I should  say  so!  Who  wouldn’t?  Why, 
he’s  worse  than  I thought  he  was,  even,  and  I 
knew  he  was  pretty  had.” 

“We  were  going  to  Zara’s  place  first,  but  that 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


31 

was  tlie  day  they  arrested  Zara’s  father.  They 
said  he’d  been  making  bad  money,  but  I don’t 
believe  it.  But  anyhow,  we  heard  them  talking 
in  their  place— Zara’s  and  her  father’s— and  they 
said  that  I’d  set  the  barn  on  fire,  and  they  were 
going  to  have  me  arrested,  and  that  Zara  would 
have  to  go  and  live  with  old  Farmer  Weeks,  who’s 
the  meanest  man  in  that  state.  And  so  we  kept 
on  running  away,  because  we  knew  that  it  couldn’t 
be  any  worse  for  us  if  we  went  than  if  we  stayed. 
So  that’s  how  we  finally  came  away.” 

“Oh,  how  exciting!  I wish  I ever  had  adven- 
tures like  that!” 

“Don’t  be  silly,  Dolly,”  said  Eleanor,  severely. 
“Bessie  and  Zara  were  very  lucky— they  might 
have  had  a very  hard  time.  And  you  had  all  the 
adventure  you  need  the  other  day  when  you  made 
Bessie  go  off  looking  for  ice-cream  sodas  with 
you.  You  be  content  to  go  along  the  way  you 
ought  to  and  you’ll  have  plenty  of  fun  without 
the  danger  of  adventures.  They  sound  very  nice, 
after  they’re  all  over,  but  when,  they’re  happen- 
ing they’re  not  very  pleasant” 

“That’s  so,”  admitted  Dolly,  becoming  grave. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  they  reached 
the  station  at  which  they  had  to  change  from  the 
main  line.  There  they  waited  for  a time  before 
the  little  two-car  train  on  the  branch  line  was 
ready  to  start.  Short  and  light  as  it  was,  that 
train  had  to  be  drawn  by  two  puffing,  snorting  en- 


32 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


gines,  for  the  rest  o'f  the  trip  was  a climlb,  and  a 
stilf  cue,  since  Long  Lake  was  fairly  high  up, 
though  the  train,  after  it  passed  the  station  near- 
est to  the  lake,  would  climh  a good  deal  higher. 

Even  after  they  left  the  train  finally,  they  w^ere 
still  some  distance  from  their  destination. 

“Yon  needn’t  look  at  that  hnckboard  as  if  yon 
were  going  to  ride  in  it,  girls,”  said  Eleanor, 
laughing,  as  they  surveyed  the  single  vehicle  that 
v/as  vfaiting  near  the  track.  “That’s  just  for  the 
baggage.  Now  you  can  see,  maybe,  why  you  were 
told  yon  couldn’t  bring"  many  things  with  you. 
And  if  that  isn’t  enough,  wait  until  yon  see  the 
trail ! ” 

Soon  all  the  baggage  vvas  stowed  away  on  th^ 
back  pf  the  backboard  and  securely  tied  on,  and 
then  the  driver  whipped  up  the  stocky  horses,  and 
drove  off,  while  the  girls  gave  him  the  Wohelo 
cheer.. 

“But  hov7  are  we  going  to  get  to  Long  Lake?” 
asked  Dolly,  apprehensively. 

“We’re  going  to  walk!”  langhed  Eleanor. 
“Come  on  nova  or  we  won’t  get  there  in  time 
for  snpper— and  I’ll  bet  we’lj  all  have  a fine  appe- 
tite for  su|)per  to-night!” 

Then  she  took  the  van,  and  led  the  way  across 
a field  and  into  the  woods  that  grew  thickly  near 
the  track. 

“This  isn’t  the  way  the  backboard  vfent!” 
said  Dolly. 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


33 


“No— we’il  strike  tlie  road  pretty  soon, 
tlio'iigii,”  said  Eleanor.  “Yv^e  save  a little  time  by 
taking  tiiis  trail.  In  the  old  days  tbere  wasn’t  any 
way  to  get  to  tbo  lake,  or  to.  carry  anything  there, 
except  by  walking.  And  when  they  built  the  cordti- 
I'oy  road  they  couldn’t  make  it  as  short  as  the  trail, 
although,  wherever  they  could,  they  followed  the 
old  trail.  So  this  is  a sort  of  short  cut.” 

^‘Wl-iat’s  a corduroy  road?”  asked  Lolly. 

“Don’t  yon  know  that?  I thought  you  knew 
something  about  the  woods,  Dolly.  My,  what  a 
lot  you’ve  got  to  learn.  It’s,  made  of  logs  and 
they’re  built  in  woods  and  places  where  it’s  hard 
to  make  a regular  road,  or  would  cost  too  much. 
All  that’s  needed,  you  see,  is  to  chop  dovni  trees 
enough  to  make  a clear  path,  and  then  to  put 
down  the  logs,  close  together.  It’s  rough  going, 
and  no  wagon  with  spinngs  can  be  driven  over  it, 
but  it’s  all  right  for  a hnckboard.” 

“Ugh!”  said  Dolly.  “I  should  think  it  would 
shake  you  to  pieces.” 

“It  does,  pretty  nearly,”  said  Eleahor,  with  a 
smile.  “One  usuallj^  only  rides' over  one  ^once — 
after  &at  one  walks,  and  is  glad  of  the  chance.” 

When,  after  a three-mile  tramp,  Eleanor, 
who  was  in  front,  stopped  suddenly  at  a point 
where  the  trees  thinned  out,  on  top  of  a ridge, 
and  called  out,  “Here’s  the  lake,  girls!”  there 
was  a wild  rush  to  reach  her  side.  And  the  view. 


34 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIKLS 


wlien  they  got  the  first  glimpse  of  it^  was  cer- 
tainly worth  all  the  trouble  it  had  caused  them. 

Before  them  stretched  a long  body  of  water, 
sapphire  blue  in  the  twilight,  with  pink  shadows 
where  the  setting  sun  was  reflected.  Perhaps  two 
miles  longj  the  lake  was,  at  its  widest  point,  not 
more  than  a quarter  of  a mile  across,  whence,  of 
course,  came  its  name.  About  it  the  land  sloped 
do\vn  on  all  sides,  into  a cup-like  depression  that 
formed  the  lake,  so  that  there  was,  on  all  four 
sides,  a tree  crowned  ridge.  From  a point  about 
half  way  to  the  far  end  of  the  lake  smoke  rose  in 
the  calm  evening  air. 

“Oh,  how  beautiful!”  cried  Bessie.  “It’s  the 
loveliest  place  I ever  saw.  And  how  wonderful 
the  smell  is.” 

“That’s  from  the  pine  trees,”  said  Eleanor. 
She  sighed,  as  if  overcome  by  the  calm  beauty  of 
■ the  scene,  as,  indeed,  she  was.  “It’s  always  beau- 
tiful here— but  sometimes  I think  it’s  most  beau- 
tiful in  winter,  when,  the  lake  is  covered  with 
ice,  and  the  trees  are  all  weighed  down  with  snow. 
Then,  of  course,  you  can  walk  or  skate  all  over 
the  lake— it’s  frozen  four  and  five  feet  deep,  as  a 
rule,  by  January.” 

Dolly  shivered. 

“But  isn’t  it  awfully  cold  here?”  she  inquired. 

“Oh,  yes;  but  it’s  so  dry  that  one  doesn’t  mind 
the  cold  half  as  much  as  we  do  at  home  when  it’s- 
really  ten  or  fifteen  degrees  warmer,  Dolly.  One- 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


35 


dresses  for  it,  too,  you  see,  in  thick,  woolen  things, . 
and  furs,  and  there’s  such  glorious  sport.  You 
can  break  holes  through  the  ice  and  fish,  and  then 
there  are  ice  boats,  and  skating  races,  and  all  sorts 
of  things.  Oh,  it’s  glorious.  I’ve  been  up  here 
in  winter  a lot,  and  I really  do  think  that’s  best 
of  all.” 

Then  she  looked  at  the  rising  smoke. 

“Well,  we  mustn’t  stay  here  and  talk  any 
more,”  she  said.  “Come  along,  girls,  it’s  getting 
near  to  supper  time.” 

“Have  we  got  to  cook  supper?”  asked' Dolly, 
anxiously. 

“No,  not  tomight,”  said  Eleanor,  with  a laugh* 
“The  guides  have  done  it  for  us,  because  I knew” 
we’d  all  be  tired  and  ready  for  a good  rest,  with- 
out any  work  to  do.  But  with  breakfast  to- 
morrow we’ll  start  in  and  do  all  our  own  work,, 
just  as  we’ve  done  when  we’ve  been  in  camp 
before.  ’ ’ 

Half  an  hour’s  brisk  walk  took  them  to  the  site 
of  the  camp.  There  there  was  a little  sandy  beach, 
and  the  tents  had  been  pitched  on  ground  that  was 
slightly  higher.  Behind  each  tent  a trench  had 
been  dug,  so  that,  in  case  of  rain,  the  water  flow- 
ing down  from  the  high  ground  in  the  rear  would 
be  diverted  and  carried  down  into  the  lake. 

Before  the  tents  a great  fire  was  burning,  and 
the  girls  cried  out  happily  at  the  sight  of  plates, 
with  knives  and  forks  and  tin  pannikins  set  by 


3G  THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 

Eiem,  all  spread  out  in  a great  circle  near  the  fire. 
At  the  fire  itself  two  or  three  men  were  busy  with 
frying  pans  and  great  coffee  pots,  and  the  savory 
smell  of  frying  bacon,  that  never  tastes  half  as 
good  as  when  it  is  eaten  in  the  woods,  rose  and 
mingled  with  the  sweet,  spicy  smell  of  the  balsams 
and  the  firs,  the  pines  and  the  spruces. 

“Oh,  but  I’m  glad  we’re  here!”  cried  Dolly, 
with  a huge  sigh  of  content.  “And  I’m  glad  toi 
see  supper— and  smell  it!” 

And  what  a supper  that  was ! For  many  of  the 
girls,  like  Bessie,  and  Zara,  and  Dolly,  it  was  the 
first  woods  meal.  How  good  the  bacon  was,  and 
the  raised  biscuit,  as  light  and  flaky  as  snow- 
flakes, cooked  as  only  woods  guides  know  how  to 
cook  them ! And  then,  afterward,  the  great  plates 
heaped  high  with  flapjacks,  that  were  to  be  eaten 
with  butter  and  maple  syrup  that  came  from  the 
trees  all  about  them.  Not  the  adulterated,  wishy- 
washy  maple  syrup  that  is  sold,  as  a rule,  even 
in  the  best  grocery  stores  of  the  cities,  but  the  real, 
luscious  maple  syrup  that  is  taken  from  the  run- 
ning sap  in  the  first  warm  days  of  February,  and 
refined  in  great  kettles,  right  under  the  trees  that 
yielded  the  sap. 

And  then,  when  it  was  time  to  turn  in,  how  they 
did  sleep!  The  air  seemed  to  have  some  myster- 
ious qualities  of  making  one  v/ant  to  sleep.  And 
the  peape  of  the  great  out-of-doors  brooded  over 
the  camp  that  night. 


CHAPTER  IV 


A EECKLESS  ErCUESIOir 

In  the  morning,  when  the  girls  awoke,  there  was 
no  sign  of  the  guides  who  had  cooked  that  tempt- 
ing and  delicious  supper  the  night  before. 

“V/’ell,  we’re  on  our  own  resources  now,  girls,” 
said  the  Guardian.  “This  may  be  a sort  of  Eden 
—I  hope  we’ll  find  it  so.  But  it’s  goin?;  to  oe  a 
manless  one.  There’ll  be  no  men  wrc  un.  " we 
get  ready  to  go  away,  if  I can  help  it— exce; as 
visitors.  ” 

“Well,  I guess  we. can  get  along  without  them 
all  right,  for  a change,”  said  Dolly,  blushing  a 
little. 

“Some  of  the  men  I know  who  are  interested 
in  the  Boy  Scouts  think  the  Camp  Eire  Girls  are 
a good  deal  of  a joke,”  said  Eleanor,  with  a light 
in  her  eyes  that  might  have  made  some  of  the 
scoffers  she  referred  to  anxious  to  eat  their 
words.  “They  say  we  get  along  all  right  because 
we  ahvays  have  some  man  ready  to  help  us  out 
if  we  get  into  any  trouble.  So  I planned  this  camp 
just  to  show  them  that  we  can  do  just  as  well  as 
any  troop  of  Boy  Scouts  ever  did.” 

“I  bet  we  can,  too,”  said  Dolly,  eagerly.  “V/hy, 
with  such  a lot  of  us  to  do  the  work,  it  won’t  be 
very  hard  for  any  one  of  us.” 


S3 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


“Not  if  we  all  do  our  share,  Dolly,”  said 
Eleanor,  looking  at  her  rather  pointedly.  “But 
if  some  of  us  are  always  managing  to  disappear 
just  when  there’s  work  to  he  done,  someone  will 
have  to  do  double  duty— and  that’s  not  fair.” 

“I  won’t— really  I won’t.  Miss  Eleanor,”  said 
Dolly.  “I  know  I’ve  shirked  sometimes,  hut  I’m 
not  going  to  this  time.  I’m  going  to  work  hard 
now  to  be  a Eire  Maker.  I think  I’ve  been  a 
Wood  Gatherer  long  enough,  don’t  you!” 

“You’ve  served  more  time  than  is  needed  for 
promotion,  Dolly.  It’s  all  up  to  you,  as  the  boys 
say.  As  soon  as  you  win  the  honors  you  need  you 
can  be  a Eire  Maker.  You  can  have  your  new 
rank  just  as  soon  as  you  earn  it.  ” 

“Bessie  and  I are  going  to  be  made  Eire  Mak- 
ers together,  if  we  can.  Miss  Eleanor.  We  talked 
that  over  the  other  day,  at  the  farm,  and  I think 
we’ll  be  ready  at  the  first  camp  fire  we  have  after 
We  get  home.  ’ ’ 

“Well,  you’ll  please  me  very  much  if  you  do. 
It’s  time  the  other  girls  were  getting  up  now — 
we’ve  got  to  cook  breakfast  now.  I’ll  call  them 
while  you  two  build  a fire— there’s  plenty  of  wood 
for  to-day,  piled  up  over  there.” 

As  Dolly  had  said,  with  each  girl  doing  her 
share,  the  work  of  the  camp  was  light.  While 
some  of  the  girls  did  the  cooking,  others  prepared 
the  “dining  table”— a smooth  place  on  the 
ground— and  others  pinned  up  the  bottom  flaps  of 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


39 


tlie  tents,  after  turning  out  the  bedding,  so  that 
the  floors  of  the  tents  might  be  well  aired.  And 
then  they  all  sat  down,  happily  and  hungrily,  to 
a breakfast  that  tasted  just  as  good  as  had  supper 
the  night  before. 

“Can  we  swim  in  the  lake.  Miss  Eleanor?’’ 
asked  Margery  Burton. 

“If  you  want  to,”  said  Eleanor,  with  a smile. 
“It’s  pretty  cold  water,  though;  a good  deal 
colder  than  it  was  at  the  sea  shore  last  year.  You 
see,  this  lake  is  fed  by  springs,  and  in  the  spring 
the  ice  melts,  and  the  water  in  April  and  May  is 
just  like  ice  water.  But  you’ll  get  used  to  it,  if 
you  only  stay  in  a couple  of  minutes  at  first,  and 
get  accustomed  to  the  chill  gradually.  But  re- 
member the  rule:  no  one  is  ever  to  go  in  unless 
I’m  right  at  hand,  and  there  must  always  be  some- 
one in  a boat,  ready  to  help  if  a girl  gets  a cramp 
or  any  other  sort  of  trouble.” 

“Oh,  are  there  boats?”  cried  Dolly.  “That’s 
fine!  Where  are  they.  Miss  Eleanor?” 

“You  shall  see  them  after  we’ve  cleared  away 
the  breakfast  things  and  washed  up.  But  there’s 
a rule  about  the  boats,  too:  no  one  is  to  go  out 
in  them  except  in  bathing  suits.  And  remember 
this,  when  you’re  out  on  the  lake.  It’s  very  nar- 
row, and  it  looks  very  calm  and  safe,  now. 

“But  at  this  time  of  the  year  there  are  often 
severe  squalls  up  here,  and  they  come  over  the 
hills  so  quickly  that  it’s  easy  to  get  caught  unless 


40 


'■THE  CAMP  FIEE'GlIii.3 


you’re  very  careful.  I think  there  had  better  al- 
ways be  two  girls  in  each  boat.  We  don’t  want 
any  accidents.”  .1 

“Can  we  go  for  walks  through  the  woods,  Miss 
Eleanor!” 

“Oh,  yes;  that’s  the  most  beautiful  x)art  cf  ’oe- 
ing  up  here.  But  it’s  easy  to  get  lost.  When 
you  start  on  a trail  alvrays  stick  to  it.  Don’t  be, 
tempted,  to  go  off  e:q)loring.  I ’in  going  to  give 
you  all  some  lessons  in  finding  your  way  in  the 
woods.  You  know,  the  moss  is  always  on  the 
south  side  of  a tree,  and  there  are  other  ways  of 
telling  direction,  by  the  leaves.  I expect  you  all 
to  he  regular  woodsmen  v»dien  we  go  away  from 
here,  and  I’m  sure  you’ll  learn  things  about  the 
woods  that  will  give  you  a good  many  pleasant 
times  in  the  future.” 

“Isn’t  there  anyone  else  at  all  up  here,  Miss 
Eleanor?  I should  think  there ’d  be  a hotel  or 
something  like  that  here.  ’ ’ 

“No,  not  yet;  not  right  near  here.  This  lake  is 
part  of  a big  preserve  that  is  owned  by  a lot  of 
men  in  the  city.  My  father  is  one  of  them,  and 
they  have  tried  to  keep  all  this  part  of  the  woods 
just  as  nature  left  it.  There  are  a lot  of  deer 
here,  and  in  the  fall,  when  hunters  come  into  the 
woods,  they  have  to  keep  out  of  this  part  of  them. 
A few  deer  are  shot  here,  because  if  only  a few 
are  taken  each  year,  it’s  all  right.  But  there  will 
be  no  hotels  in  this  tract.  Hotels  mean  the  end 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


41 

of  the  real  woods  life.  There  are  half  a dozen 
lakes  in  the  preserve,  and  each  of  the  families 
that  owns  a share  in  it  has  a camp  at  one  of  the 
lakes.  I mean  a regular  camp,  with  wooden  build- 
ings, where  one  can  stay  in  the  winter,  even.  But 
this  lake  was  set  apart  for  trips  like  this,  where 
people  can  gfet  right  back  to  nature,  and  sleep  in 
tents.  ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Then  we  can  go  over  and  see  some  of  the 
other  lakes?” 

“Yes;  I don’t  know  whether  we’ll  find  anyone 
at  home  in  any  of  the  camps  or  not,  but  they’ll 
be  glad  to  see  us  if  they  are  there.  A lot  of  people 
wait  until  later  in  the  year  to  come  up  here— 
until  the  hunting  season  l?egins.  But  we  can  do 
some  hunting  even  now,  though  it’s  against  the 
law  to  do  any  shooting.  ” 

“Oh,  I know^  what  you  mean.  Miss  Eleanor— 
with  a camera?” 

It  was  Margery  Burton  who  thought  of  that. 

“Yes.  And  that’s  really  the  best  sort  of  hunt- 
ing, I think.  If  you’ve  ever  seen  a deer,  and  had 
it  look  at  you  with  (its  big,  soft  eyes  I cton’t  see 
how  you  can  kill  it.  It’s  almost  as  hard  to  get 
a good  picture  of  a deer  as  it  is  to  kill  it — in  fact, 
I think  it’s  harder,  because  you  have  to  get  so 
much  closer  to  it.  And  it’s  awfully  good  fun  at 
night. 

“Yon  go  to  one  of  their  runways,  and  settle 
down,  with  your  camera  and  a flashlight  powder, 


42 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


and  then  when  the  deer  comes,  if  you’re  very 
quick,  you  can  get  a really  beautiful  picture.  The 
deer  may  be  a little  frightened,  but  he  isn’t  hurt, 
and  you  have  a picture  that  you  can  keep  for 
years  and  show  to  people.  And  an  experienced 
hunter  will  tell  you  that  any  time  you  can  get 
close  enough  to  a deer  to  get  a good  flashlight  pic- 
ture of  him  you  could  easily  have  killed  him.” 

“Why  is  it  so  very  hard  to  do  that?” 

“Well,  for  lots  of  reasons.  You  have  to  figure 
on  the  wind— because  if  the  wind  is  blowing  away 
from  you  and  toward  the  deer  he  can  smell  you 
long  before  he’s  in  sight,  and  off  he  goes,  afraid 
to  come  any  nearer.” 

“But  how  can  you  tell  where  a deer  will  be?” 

“They  have  regular  runways— just  as  we  have 
trails.  And  at  night  they  come  down  to  the  lake 
to  drink.  So  you  can  station  yourself  on  one  of 
those  runways,  and  be  pretty  sure  that  sooner  or 
later  a deer  vdll  come  along.” 

The  morning  passed  quickly  and  happily.  To 
the  girls  who  had  never  before  been  in  that  coun- 
try, there  seemed  to  ‘be  an  unending  number  of 
new  discoveries.  Timid  as  the  deer  might  be, 
there  was  nothing  nervous  about  the  squirrels  and 
chipmunks  which  abounded  in  the  woods  near  the 
lake,  and  as  soon  as  they  saw  the  girls  they  came 
running  about,  so  that  there  were  often  half  a 
dozen  or  more  begging  noisily  for  dainties  to  af- 
ford them  a change  from  their  diet  of  nuts,  sitting 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


43 


up,  and  chattering  prettily  as  they  got  the  mor- 
sels that  were  tossed  to  them. 

“I  never  saw  them  so  tame,  even  at  home,” 
said  Bessie,  surprised.  “We  had  plenty  of  them 
there,  but  I suppose  they  were  wilder  because 
the  boys  used  to  shoot  them.  They  don’t  do  that 
here,  I suppose?” 

“No;  the  people  who  hunt  around  here  go  in 
for  bigger  game.  They  would  think  they  were 
wasting  their  time  if  they  bothered  to  shoot  chip- 
munks and  squirrels.” 

“I’ve  seen  them  tame  before,  but  that  was  in 
the  park,  at  home,  and  it  isn’t  the  same  thing  at 
all,”  said  Dolly. 

“No;  though  they’re  very  cute,  and  I’m  glad 
there  afe  so  many  of  them  there.  But  here,  of 
course,  they’re  in  their  real  home,  and  it’s  differ- 
ent, and  much  nicer,  I think.” 

Then,  after  luncheon.  Miss  Eleanor  divided  the 
girls  into  watches. 

“I  think  we’ll  have  more  fun  if  a certain  num- 
ber stay  home  every  afternoon  to  prepare  dinner 
and  cook  it,”  she  said.  “Then  the  rest  of  you  can 
go  for  walks,  or  do  anything  you  like,  so  long 
as  you  are  back  in  time  for  dinner.  In  that  way, 
some  of  you  will  be  free  every  afternoon,  and 
those  who  have  to  work  won’t  mind,  because  they 
will  know  that  the  next  day  they  will  be  free,  and 
so  on.” 

Zara  was  one  of  those  who  drew  a piece  of 


44 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


paper  marked  “work”  from  the  big  hat  in  which 
Miss  Eleanor  put  a slip  of  paper  for  every  girl, 
while  Bessie  and  Dolly  each  drew  a slip  marked 
“play.” 

“To-morrow  the  girls  who  work  to-day  will 
play,”  said  Miss  Eleanor,  “and  those  who  play 
to-day  will  draw  again.  Fonr  of  them  will  play 
again  to-morrow,  and  the  other  four  will  work, 
and  then,  on  the  third  day,  those  who  play  to- 
morrow will  work,  and  on  the  fourth  day  to-day’s 
four  will  work  again.  That  will  give  everyone 
two  days  off  and  one  day  to  work  while  we’re  in 
camp.  And  I think  that’s  fair.” 

So  did  everyone  else,  and  Dolly,  always  willing 
to  put  off  work  as  long  as  she  could,  was  delighted. 

“Let’s  take  a long  walk  this  afternoon,  Bessie,” 
she  said.  “The  air  up  here  makes  me  feel  more 
like  walking  than  I ever  do  when  I’m  at  home. 
There  I usually  take  a car  whenever  I can,  though 
I’ve  been  trying  to  walk  more  lately,  so  as  to  get 
an  honor  bead.” 

“I’ll  be  glad  to  take  a walk,  Dolly,”  said  Bessie, 
laughing.  “I  think  you  ought  to  be  encouraged 
any  time  you  really  want  to  do  something  that’s 
good  for  you.” 

“Oh,  if  I stay  with  you  long  enough  I’ll  be 
too  good  to  keep  on  living,”  said  Dolly.  “Don’t 
you  see  the  difference  between  us,  Bessie?  You’re 
good  because  you  like  to  do  the  things  you  ought 
to  do.  And  when  anyone  tells  me  something’s 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


45 


good  for  me,  I always  get  so  tliat  I don ’I  w^ast 
to  do  it.  We’ll  start  riglit  after  I'aneL,  shall  wre?*’ 
“All  riglit,”  said  Bessie. 

But  before  it  was  tipae  to  maLe  a start  sLe 
sought  out  Miss  Eleanoi'. 

“I’m  not  really  afraid,  Yfanaka,”  she  sahl, 
using  the  Indian  name,  Lince,  here  in  the  Woods,, 
it  Seemed  natural  to  do  it.  ‘ ‘ But  I thought  I ViigM 
to  ask  you  if  you  think  it’s  all  yight  for  me  m go- 
off with  Dolly?  I suppose  none  of  those  pe^le 
who  were  trying  to  get  hold  of  me  wmuld  do  a^- 
thing  up  here,  would  they?”  ' l 

“Oh,  I don’t  think  so,  Bessie.  No,  I thiii^ 
you’re  just  as  safe  anywhere  in  these  w'oods  as 
you  would  be  right  here  in  the  camp.  There  are 
a few  guides  around— they  have  to  be  kept  here 
to  warn  people  who  make  camt)  and  don’t  put. 
out  their  fires  properly.  You  see,  my  father  and 
the  rest  of  the  people  don’t  mind  letting  nice  peo- 
ple come  here  into  their  preserve  to  camp,  but 
they’ve  got  to  be  careful  about  fire. 

“You  can  imagine  what  rvould  happen  here  if 
the  woods  caught  fire ; it  would  be  dreadful.  Fur- 
ther on,  the  woods  are  only  just  beginning  to  grow' 
up  again.  They  were  all  burned  out  a year  or  so 
ago,  and  they  look  horrid.  This  preserve  is  so 
beautiful  that  we  all  want  to  keep  it  looking  just 
as  nice  as  possible.  But  the  guides  would  look 
after  you:  there’s  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  witk 
them. 


46 


THl?  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 

“And  I djn't  believe  that  you’d  be  at  all  likely 
to  meet  an/one  else.  Suppose  you  take  the  trail 
that  start^ at  the  far  end  of  the  lake,  and  follow 
it  straigOT  over  until  you  come  to  Little  Bear 
Lake,  ^at’s  a very  pretty  walk.  But  don’t  go 
off  the /preserve.  There’s  a trail  that  leads  over 
to  Loon  Pond,  but  you’d  better  not  try  that  until 
we  all  go  as  a party.” 

So,  when  the  midday  meal  had  been  eaten, 
Bessie  and  Dolly  started  off,  skirting  the  edge  of 
the  lake  until  they  came  to  the  beginning  of  the 
trail  Miss  Mercer  had  spoken  of,  which  was 
marked  by  a birch  bark  sign  on  a tree.  There 
they  left  the  lake,  and  plunged  so  quickly  into 
thick  woods  that  the  water  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

“Isn’t  this  lovely?  Oh,  I could  walk  miles  and 
miles  here  and  never  get  tired  at  all,  I believe!” 
said  Dolly.  “But  I do  sort  of  wish  there  was  a 
hotel  somevirhere  around.  They  have  dances,  and 
parties,  and  all  sorts  of  fun  at  those  hotels.  And, 
Bessie,  do  you  know  I heard  there  was  one  near 
here,  at  a place  called  Loon  Pond?” 

“Is  there?” 

“Yes;  I think  it  would  be  fun  to  go  there  some 
time.” 

“Well,  maybe  we  can,  some  time,  Dolly.  When 
Miss  Eleanor  is  along.  But  we’d  better  not  do  it 
to-day.  You  Imow  she  said  we  were  to  stick  to 
the  preserve.  ’ ’ 

“Oh,  bother;  as  if  we  could  get  into  any  mis- 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


47 


chief  up  here!  But  I suppose  there  wouldn’t  be 
any  use  in  trying  to  persuade  you ; you  always  do 
just  us  you’re  told.” 

“Oh,  I’d  like  to  see  the  hotel,  too,  Dolly,  but 
not  to-day.  The  woods  are  enough  for  me  now. 
And  we  can  go  there  some  other  time,  I’m  sure.” 

Dolly  said  nothing  more  just  then,  and  for  a 
time  they  walked  along  quietly. 

“We’re  about  half  way  to  Little  Bear  Lake 
now,”  announced  Dolly,  after  a spell  of  silence. 

“IVliy,  how  do  you  know!” 

“Because  I saw  a map,  and  this  ridge  we’ve 
just  come  to  is  half  way  between  the  two  lakes.” 

“Oh,”  said  Bessie. 

“Yes.  WY’ve  been  coming  up  hill  so  far  now, 
the  rest  of  the  way  is  down  hill,  so  it  will  be 
easier  walking.  ’ ’ 

“That’s  good;  it  means  that  when  we’re  going' 
home  Ave’ll  be  going  down  for  the  last  half  of 
the  trip,  v/hen  we’re  tired.  That’s  much  easier 
than  if  it  was  the  other  way,  I think.” 

“You  look  tired,  Bessie;  why  don’t  you  sit 
down  and  rest?” 

“Well,  that’s  not  a bad  idea,  Dolly.  I’m  not 
used  to  so  much  walking  lately.” 

“All  right,  sit  down.  I’m  thirsty.  I th,ink  I’ll 
just  run  ahead  and  see  if  I can  find  a spring 
while  you  rest.” 

So  Dolly  ran  ahead,  and  disappeared  after  a 
moment.  Presently,  when  Bessie  was  rested,  she 


48 


THWCAMP  FIEE  GIELS 

started  again/jand  soon  overtook  Dolly. 

“We  turn  here,”  said  Dolly.  “See,  here’s 
another  trail,  and  the  signs  sho;\v  which  one  we  ’re 
to  take.”  , 

“That’s  funny,”  said  Bessie,  puzzled.  “I 
thought  we  went  to  Little  Bear  in  a perfectly 
straight  line.  Miss  Eleanor  didn’t  say  anything 
about  changing  direction.  ’ ’ 

“Weil,  there’s  the  sign,  Bessie.  If  we  keep 
straight  on  it  says  that  we’ll  come  to  Loon  Pond. 
We  turn  off  to  the  right  here  to  get  to  Little 
Bear.  ’ ’ 

“Weli,  I guess  the  sign  must  he  right.  But  it 
certainly  seems  funny.  I hope  there  isn’t  any 
mistake.” 

“Mistake!  How  can  there  he!  Don’t  he  silly, 
Bessie.  There  wouldn’t  he  any  chanCe  of  that. 
Come  on.” 

So  they  turned  off,  and,  as  they  followed  the 
nev/  trail,  the  trees  began  to  grow  thinner,  j^res- 
ently.  The  whole  character  6f  the  woods  seemed 
to  change,  too.  They  passed  numerous  places 
where  picnic  parties  had  evidently  eaten  their 
meals,  and  had  left  blackened  spots,  and  the  rem- 
nants of  their  feasts. 

“It  seems  to  me  some  of  the  people  who’ve  been 
here  have  been  very  careless,  Dolly,  ’ ’ said  Bessie. 
“Look,  tliei'e’s  a place  where  a fire  started.  It 
didn’t  get  very  far,  hnt  it  burnt  over  quite  a little 
hit  of  ground  before  it  was  put  out.” 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


49 


The  trail  begaii  to  dip  sharply,  too,  and  before 
long  they  were  waiting  in  vfhat  was  almost  open 
Goniitr].'.  Stamps  of  trees  were  all . about,  c^nd 
evidently  wood-cutters  had  been  at  rvork. 

“This  isn’t  half  as  pretty  as  Long  Lake,”  said 
Bessie.  “Oh,  Dolly,  look!  What’s  that!” 

Dolly  laughed  in  a peculiar  fashion.  For  they 
had  come  in  sight  of  a sheet  of  water,  and,  in 
plain  view',  not  far  from  them,  by  the  shore  of 
the  lake,  they  saw  a place  that  could  not  be  mis- 
taken. It  proclaimed  its  nature  at  once— a reg- 
ular summer  hotel,  with  wide  piazzas,  full  of  peo- 
ple. And  on  the  water  there  were  a score  of 
boats  and  canoes,  and  one  or  two  launches. 

“This  isn’t  Little  Bear  Lake!”  said  Bessie. 

“Of  course  it  isn’t,  silly;  it’s  Loon  Pond.  I 
changed  the  signs  while  you  rested,  becau.se  I 
meant  to  come  here,  and  I knew  you  wouldn’t,  if 
you  knew  what  you  were  doing!” 


CHAPTER  V 


THE  GYPSY  CAMP 

Bessie  grew  red  witli  indignation  for  a moment, 
out  before  she  spoke  she  was  calm  again. 

“Don’t  you  think  that’s  a pretty  mean  trick, 
Dolly?”  she  said,  gently.  “It  seems  to  me  it’s  a 
good  deal  like  lying.” 

“Why,  Bessie  King!  Can’t  you  ever  take  a 
joke?  I didn’t  say  a single,  solitary  thing  that, 
wasn’t  so.  I said  the  signs  said  this  was  the  way 
to  Little  Bear  Lake,  and  you  never  asked  me  if 
I’d  changed  them,  did  you?” 

Bessie  laughed,  helplessly. 

“Oh,  Dolly!”  she  said.  “Of  course  I didn’t; 
why  should  I?  Who  would  ever  think  of  doing 
such  a thing,  except  you?  You  don’t  expect  people 
to  guess  what  you’re  going  to  do  next,  do  you?” 

“I  suppose  not,”  said  Dolly,  impenitently,  her 
eyes  still  twinkling.  “I  do  manage  to  surprise 
people  pretty  often.  My  Aunt  Mabel  says  that  if 
I spent  half  as  much  time  studying  as  I do  think- 
ing up  new  sorts  of  mischief  I’d  be  at  the  top  of 
every  class  I’m  in  at  school.” 

“She’s  perfectly  right.  I thought  at  first  you 
had  a hard  time  with  your  aunt,  Dolly,  but  I’m 
through  being  sorry  for  you.  She  needs  all  the 


50 


A.T  LONG  LAKE 


51 


sympathy  anyone  has  got  for  having  to  try  to 
look  after  you!” 

'‘Oh,  what’s  the  harm?  We’re  here  now,  and 
it  isn’t  so  very  dreadful,  is  it?  Come  on,  let’s 
go  over  to  the  hotel.” 

“Indeed  we  shan’t  do  anything  of  the  soit 
Dolly  Eansom.  We’ll  turn  around  and  go  right 
straight  back  to  Long  Lake,  that’s  what  v/e’il  do.” 

“I  guess  not.  You  don’t  think  I’ve  come  this 
far  and  that  I’m  going  to  turn  around  without 
seeing  what  the  place  is  like,  do  you?” 

“Why,  Dolly,  you  know  we  weren’t  supposed 
to  come  here  alone.  I don’t  think  much  of  it;  it 
isn’t  half  as  pretty  as  Long  Lake.  What’s  the 
use  of  wasting  our  time  here,  anyhow?” 

“Why— why— because  there  are  people  here! 
I just  love  seemg  people,  Bessie,  they’re  so  in- 
teresting, because  they’re  all  so  different,  and  you 
never  know  what  they’re  going  to  say  or  do.  And 
there  may  be  someone  we  know  here,  too.” 

“There  can’t  be  anyone  I know,  Dolly.” 

“Oh,  bother!  Well,  there  may  be  someone  I 
know,  and  that’s  the  same  thing,  isn’t  it?  Come 
on,  be  a sport,  Bessie.” 

“That’s  what  you  said  about  going  in  the  ear 
with  Mr.  Holmes  the  other  day,  too.” 

“Oh,  but  this  isn’t  a bit  like  that,  Bessie.” 

“It  might  get  us  into  just  as  much  mischief, 
Dolly.  No,  I’m  not  going  over  there.  It’s  silly, 
and  it’s  wrong.” 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


S2 

And  this  time  Bessie  stood  firm.  Despite 
Doily’s  pleading,  which  turned,  presently,  to 
angry  threats,  she  refused  afesolutely  to  go  any 
nearer  the  hotel,  and  Dolly  was  afraid  to  venture 
there  alone,  thougli  there  was  very  little  she  was 
afraid  to  do.  In  her  inmost  heart,  of  course, 
Doily  knew  that  Bessie  was  right,  and  that  sh§ 
had  had  no  business  to  trick  her  chum  into  seem- 
ing to  break  her  promise  to  Miss  Eleanor. 

“Oh,  well,”  she  said,  “I  might  have  known  that 
1 couldn’t  always  make  you  do  what  you  don’t 
want  to  do,  Bessie.  You’re  not  mad  at  me,  are 
you?” 

Bessie,  pleased  by  this  sign  of  surrender,  re- 
turned the  smile. 

“I  ought  to  be,  hut  I’m  not,  Dolly,”  she  an- 
swered. “I  think  that  is  one  of  the  reasons  you 
keep  on  doing  these  things— that  no  one  ever 
really  does  get  angry  with  you,  as  they  should.  If 
■someone  you  really  cared  for  got  properly  angry 
at  you  just  once  for  one  of  your  little  tricks,  I 
tldnlc  it  would  teach  you  not  to  do  anything  of 
the  sort  for  a long  time.” 

“Oh,  I don’t  mean  any  harm,  Bessie,  and  you 
know  it,  and  when  people  really  like  you  they 
don’t  get  angry  unless  they  think  you’re  really 
trying  to  be  mean.  I say,  Bessie,  if  you  won’t  go 
over  to  the  hotel,  will  you  walk  just  a little  way 
over  to  the  other  side,  and  see  what  that  funny 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


53 


looking  place  is  where  those  big  wagons  are  all 
spread  out?” 

Bessie  followed  Dolly’s  pointing  finger,  and 
saw,  on  the  side  of  Loon  Pond  opposite  the  hotel, 
several  wagons,  among  which  smoke  vms  rising. 

“It  looks  like  a circus,”  said  Doily. 

“It  isn’t,  though.  I know  what  they  are,”  said 
Bessie,  promptly.  “It’s  a gypsy  encampment. 
Do  you  mean  you’ve  never  seen  one,  Dolly?” 

“No;  and  oh  dear,  Bessie,  I’ve  always  wanted 
to.  Surely  we  could  go  a little  nearer,  couldn’t 
we  ? As  long  as  we  ’re  here  ? ” 

Bessie  thought  it  over  for  a moment,  and,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  really  could  see  no  harm  in  spend- 
ing ten  minutes  or  so  in  walking  over  toward  the 
gypsy  camp.  She  herself  had  seen  a few  gypsies 
near  Hedgeville  in  her  time,  but  in  that  part  of  the 
country  those  strange  wanderers  were  not  pop- 
ular, 

“All  right,”  she  said.  “But  if  I do  that  will 
you  promise  to  start  for  home  as  soon  as  we’ve 
had  a look  at  them,  and  never  to  play  such  a 
trick  on  me  again?” 

“I  certainly  will.  Bessie,  you’re  a darling. 
And  I’ll  tell  you  something  else,  too;  you  were 
so  nice  about  the  way  I changed  those  signs  that 
I’m  really  sorry  I did  it.  And  I just  thought  it 
would  be  a good  joke.  Usually  I’m  glad  when 
people  get  angry  at  my  jokes,  it  shows  they  were 
good  ones.” 


54 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


Bessie  smiled  wisely  to  herself.  Gradually  she 
was  learning  that  the  way  to  rob  Dolly’s  jokes 
and  teasing  tricks  of  their  sting,  and  the  best 
way,  at  the  same  time,  to  cure  Dolly  herself  of 
her  fondness  for  them,  was  never  to  let  the  joker 
know  that  they  had  had  the  effect  she  planned. 

Dolly,  considerably  relieved,  as  a matter  of 
fact,  when  she  found  that  Bessie  was  really  not 
angry  at  her  for  the  trick  she  had  played  with  the 
sign  post,  chattered  volubly  as  they  turned  to  walk 
over  toward  the  gypsy  camp. 

“I  don’t  see  why  they  call  this  a pond  and  the 
one  we’re  on  a lake,”  she  said.  “This  is  ever  so 
much  bigger  than  Long  Lake.  Why,  it  must  be 
four  or  five  miles  long,  don’t  you  think,  Bessie!” 

“Yes.  I guess  they  call  it  a pond  because  it 
looks  just  like  a big,  overgrown  ice  pond.  See, 
it’s  round.  I think  Long  Lake  is  ever  so  much 
prettier,  don’t  you,  even  though  it’s  smaller?” 

“I  certainly  do.  This  place  isn’t  like  the  woods 
at  all,  it’s  more  like  regular  country,  that  you 
can  find  by  just  taking  a trolley  car  and  riding 
a few  miles  out  from  the  city.” 

“It  used  to  be  just  as  it  is  now  around  Long 
Lake,  I suppose,”  said  Bessie.  “But  they’ve  cut 
the  trees  down,  and  made  room  for  tennis  courts 
and  all  sorts  of  things  like  that,  and  then,  I sup- 
pose, they  needed  wood  to  build  the  hotel,  too. 
It’s  quite  a big  place,  isn’t  it,  Dolly?” 

“Yes,  and  I’ve  heard  of  it  before,  too,”  said 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


55 


Ddfly.  “A  frim4  of  mae  stefied  up  here  for  a 
monlii  tw©  or  years  go.  ®te  says  they  ad- 
vertise &at  it’s  wild  aud  jr^t  like  Bving  right  ia 
the  woods,  but  it  isn’t,  at  ail.  I it’s  for  peo- 
ple who  like  to  feiak  feey’re  rm^hing  it  when 
they’re  really  just  as  oemfortafele  as  they  would 
be  if  tliey  stayed  at  home.  Comfortable  the  same 
way,  I mean.” 

“Yes,  that’s  better,  Dolly.  Because  I think 
we’re  comfortable,  though  it’s  very  different  from 
the  way  we  would  live  in  the  city,  or  even  from 
the  way  we  lived  at  the  farm.  But  we’re  really 
roughing  it,  I guess.” 

“Yes,  and  it’s  fine,  too!  Tell  me,  Bessie,  did 
you  ever  see  any  gypsies  like  these  when  you  lived 
in  the  country?” 

‘ ‘ There  were  gypsies  around  Hedgeville  two  or 
three  times,  but  the  farmers  all  hated  them,  and 
used  to  try  to  drive  them  away,  and  Maw  Hoover 
told  me  not  to  go  near  them  when  they  were 
around.  She  usually  gave  me  so  many  things  to 
do  that  I couldn’t,  anyhow.  You  know,  the  farm- 
ers say  that  they’ll  steal  anything,  but  I think 
one  reason  for  that  is  that  the  farmers  drove  them 
into  doing  it,  in  the  beginning,  I mean.  They, 
wouldn’t  let  them  act  like  other  people,  and  they 
didn’t  like  to  sell  them  things.  So  I Ijiink  the 
poor  gypsies  wanted  to  get  even,  and  that’s  how 
they  began  to  steal.” 


56  THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 

“MTiat  do  you  suppose  they’re  doing  up  here, 
Bessie  ? ’ ’ 

‘‘They  always  go  around  to  the  summer  places, 
and  in  the  winter  they  go  south,  to  where  the 
people  from  the  north  go  to  get  warm  when  it’s 
winter  at  home.  They  tell  fortunes,  and  they 
make  all  sorts  of  queer  things  that  people  like  to 
buy;  lace,  and  bead  things.  And  I suppose  up 
here  they  sell  all  sorts  of  souvenirs,  too;  baskets, 
and  things  like  that.” 

“Don’t  they  have  any  real  homes,  Bessie?” 

“No;  except  in  their  wagons.  They  live  in 
them  all  the  time,  and  they  always  manage  to  be 
where  it’s  warm  in  the  winter.  They  don’t  care 
where  they  go,  you  see.  One  place  is  just  like 
another  to  them.  They  never  have  settled  in 
towns.  They’ve  been  wanderers  for  ages  and 
ages,  and  they  have  their  own  language.  They 
know  all  sorts  of  things  about  the  weather,  and 
they  can  find  their  way  anywhere.” 

“How  do  you  know  so  much  about  thfem,  Bessie, 
if  you  never  saw  anything  of  them  when  you  were 
in  Hedgeville?” 

“I  read  a book  about  them  once.  It’s  called 
‘Lavengro,’  and  it’s  by  a man  who’s  been  dead 
a long  time  now ; his  name  was  Borrow.  ’ ’ 

“IVliat  a funny  name!  I never  heard  of  that 
book,  but  I’ll  get  it  and  read  it  when  I get  home. 
It  tells  about  the  gypsies,  you  say?” 

“Yes.  But  I guess  not  about  the  gypsies  as 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


57 


they  are  now,  hut  more  as  they  used  to  be.  We’re 
getting  close,  now.  See  all  the  babies!  Aren’t 
they  cute  and  brown?” 

Two  or  three  parties,  evidently  from  the  hotel, 
were  looking  about  the  camp,  but  they  paid  little 
attention  to  the  two  Camp  Fire  Girls,  evidently 
recognizing  that  they  did  not  come  from  the  hotel. 
The  gypsies,  however,  always  on  the  alert  when 
they  see  a chance  to  make  money  by  selling  their 
wares  or  by  telling  fortunes,  flocked  about  them, 
particularly  the  women.  Bessie,  fair  haired  and 
blond,  they  seemed  disposed  to  neglect,  but  Bessie 
noticed  that  several  of  the  men  looked  admiringly 
at  Dolly,  whose  dark  hair  and  eyes,  though  she 
was,  of  course,  much  fairer  than  their  own  women, 
seemed  to  appeal  to  them. 

“I’d  like  to  have  my  fortune  told!”  Dolly 
whispered. 

“I  think  we’d  better  not  do  that,  Dolly,  really; 
and  you  remember  you  said  you’d  stay  just  for 
a minute.” 

“I  don’t  see  what  harm  it  would  do,”  Dolly 
pouted.  But  she  gave  in,  nevertheless.  They 
passed  the  door  of  the  strangely  decorated  tent 
inside  of  which  the  secrets  of  the  future  were  sup- 
posed to  be  revealed,  and,  followed  by  a curious 
pack  of  children,  walked  on  to  a wagon  where  a 
pretty  girl,  who  seemed  no  older  than  themselves 
but  was  probably,  because  the  gypsy  women  grow 
old  so  much  more  quickly  than  American  girls. 


58 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


actually  younger,  was  sitting.  She  was  sewing 
beads  to  a jacket,  and  she  looked  up  with  a bright  ^ 
smile  as  they  approached. 

“You  come  from  the  hotel?”  she  said.  “You 
live  there?” 

“No,”  said  Dolly.  “We  come  from  a long  way 
off.  Are  you  going  to  wear  that  jacket?” 

The  gypsy  girl  laughed. 

“No.  I’m  making  that  for  my  man,  him  over 
there  by  the  tree,  smoking,  see?  He’s  my  man; 
he’s  goin’  marry  me  when  I get  it  done.” 

Bessie  laughed. 

“Marry  you?  Why,  you’re  only  a girl  like 
me!”  she  exclaimed. 

“No,  no;  me  woman,”  protested  the  gypsy, 
eagerly.  “See,  I’m  so  tall  already!” 

And  she  sprang  up  to  show  them  how  tall  she 
was.  But  Bessie  and  Dolly  only  laughed  the 
more,  until  Bessie  saw  that  something  like  anger 
was  coming  into  her  black  eyes,  and  checked 
Dolly’s  laugh. 

“I  hope  you’ll  be  very  happy,”  she  said. 
“Come  on,  Dolly,  we  really  must  be  going.” 

Dolly  was  inclined  to  resist  once  more.  She 
hadn’t  seen  half  as  much  as  she  wanted  to  of  the 
strange,  exotie  life  of  the  gypsy  caravan,  so  differ- 
ent from  the  things  she  was  used  to,  but  Bessie 
was  firm,  and  they  began  to  make  their  way 
back  toward  the  trail.  And,  as  they  neared  the 
spot  from  which  they  had  had  their  first  view  of 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


59 


Loon  Pond  and  the  gypsy  camp,  Bessie  was 
startled  and  frightened  by  the  sudden  appearance 
in  their  path  of  the  good  looking  yming  gypsy  for 
whom  th«  girl  they  had  been  talking  to  was  deco- 
rating the  jacket. 

His  keen  eyes  devoured  Dolly  as  he  stood  be- 
fore her,  and  he  put  out  his  hand,  gently  enough, 
to  bar  their  way. 

“Will  you  mai’ry  me?”  he  said,  in  English 
much  better  than  that  of  most  of  his  tribe. 

Dolly  laughed,  although  Bessie  looked  serious. 

“Oh,  yes,  of  course,”  said  Dolly.  “I  always 
marry  the  first  man  who  asks  me,  every  day; 
especially  if  he’s  a gypsy  and  I’ve  never  seen 
him  before.” 

“You’re  too  young  now;  you  think  you  are,  I 
suppose,  ’ ’ said  the  gypsy,  showing  his  white 
teeth.  “You  come  back  with  me  and  wait;  by 
and  by  we  will  get  married.” 

“Nonsense,”  said  Bessie,  decisively.  “He 
means  it,  Dolly,  he’s  not  joldng.  Come,  we  must 
hurry.” 

“Wait,  stay,”  said  the  gypsy,  eagerly.  And 
he  put  out  his  hand  as  if  to  hold  Dolly.  But  she 
screamed  before  he  could  touch  her,  and  darted 
past  him.  And  in  a moment  both  girls,  running 
hard,  were  out  of  sight. 


! ( 

1;  * ' . 

V 

CHAPTER  Vr 

A SEKIOUS  JOKE 

Bessie,  seriously  alarmed,  led  ttie  race  through 
the  woods  and  they  had  gone  for  nearly  a quarter 
of  a mile  before  she  would  even  stop  to  listen. 
When  she  felt  that  if  the  gypsy  were  going  to  over- 
take them  he  ■would  have  done  it,  she  stopped, 
and,  breathing  hard,  listened  eagerly  for  some 
sign  that  he  was  still  behind  them.  But  only  the 
noises  of  the  forest  came  to  their  ears,  the  rustling 
of  the  leaves  in  the  trees,  the  call  of  a bird,  the 
sudden  sharp  chattering  of  a squirrel  or  a chip- 
munk, and,  of  course,  their  own  breathing. 

“I  guess  we  got  away  from  him  all  right,”  she 
said.  ”Oh,  Dolly,  I was  frightened!” 

“"V^Tiat?”  cried  Dolly,  amazed.  “Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  you  let  that  silly  gypsy  frighten  you? 
I thought  you  were  braver  than  that,  Bessie!” 

“You  don’t  know  anything  about  it,  Dolly,” 
said  Bessie,  a little  irritated.  “It  really  wasn’t 
your  fault,  but  those  people  aren’t  like  our  men. 
He  probably  meant  just  what  he  said,  and  if  he 
thought  you  were  laughing  at  him,  it  ■would  have 
made  hiin  furious.  V/hen  you  said  you  would 
marry  him, . of  course  I knew  you  were  joking, 
and  so  would  anyone  like  us,  but  I think  he  took 
you  seriously,  Ea  thought  you  meant  it!” 


60 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


61 


‘‘Bessie!  How  absurd!  He  couldn’t!  Wby,  I 
won’t  marry  anyone  for  ever  so  long,  and  be  surely 
doesn’t  tbink  an  American  girl  would  ever  marry 
one  of  bis  nasty  tribe!  You’re  joking,  aren’t 
you?  He  couldn’t  ever  have  really  thought  any- 
thing so  perfectly  absurd!” 

“I  only  hope  we  won’t  find  out  that  he  was 
serious,  Dolly.  You  couldn’t  be  expected  to  under- 
stand, but  people  like  that  are  very  different  from 
ourselves.  They  haven’t  got  a lot'  of  civilized 
ideas  to  hold  them  in  check,  the  way  we  have, 
and  when  they  want  something  they  come  right 
out  and  say  so,  and  if  they  can’t  get  what  they 
want  by  asking  for  it,  they’re  apt  to  take  it.” 

“But  I didn’t  think  anyone  ever  acted  like  that! 
And  he  is  going  to  marry  that  pretty  gypsy  girl 
who  is  putting  the  beads  and  buttons  on  a jacket 
for  him,  anyhow.  She  said  so ; she  said  they  were 
engaged.  ’ ’ 

“Men  have  changed  their  minds  about  the 
women  they  were  going  to  marry,  Dolly,  even 
American  men.  And  that’s  another  thing  that 
bothers  me.  I think  that  girl’s  very  much  in  love 
with  him,  and  if  she  thought  he  was  fond  of  you, 
she ’d  be  furious.  There ’s  no  telling  what  a gypsy 
girl  might  do  if  she  was  jealous.  You  see,  she’d 
blame  you,  instead  of  him.  She’d  say  you  had 
turned  his  head.” 

“Oh,  Bessie,  what  a dreadful  mess.  Oh,  dear! 


62 


THE  GAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


I seem  to  be  getting  into  trouble  all  the  time!  I 
think  I’m  just  going  to  have  a little  harmless  fun 
and  then  I find  that  I’ve  started  all  sorts  of 
trouble  that  I couldn’t  foresee  at  all.” 

“Never  mind,  Doily.  You  didn’t  mean  to  do  it, 
and,  of  course,  I may  be  exaggerating  it  anyhow. 
I’ll  admit  I’m  frightened,  but  it’s  because  of  what 
I know  about  the  gypsies.  They’re  strange  people 
and  they  carry  a grudge  a long  time.  If  they 
think  anyone  has  hurt  them,  or  otfended  them, 
they’re  never  satisfied  until  they  have  had  their 
revenge.  But,  after  all,  he  may  not  do  anything 
at  ail.  He  may  have  been  joking.  Perhaps  he 
just  wanted  to  frighten  you.” 

“Oh,  I really  do  think  that  must  have  been  it, 
Bessie.  Don’t  you  remember  that  he  was  differ- 
ent from  die  others?  He  spoke  just  as  well  as 
we  do,  as  if  he’d  been  to  school,  and  he  must  know 
more  about  our  (jastoms.” 

Bessie  shook  her  head. 

“That  doesn’t  mean  that  he  isn’t  just  as  wild 
and  untamed  as  the  others  down  at  bottom,  Dolly. 
I’ve  heard  the  same  thing  about  Indians;  that 
some  of  those  who  make  the  most  trouble  are  the 
very  ones  who’ve  been  to  Carlisle.  It  isn’t  be- 
cause they’re  educated,  because  they  would  have 
been  wild  and  wicked  anyhow,  but  the  very  fact 
that  they  are  educated  seems  to  make  them  more 
dangerous.  I hope  it  isn’t  the  same  with  this 
gypsy;  but  we’ve  got  to  be  oarefoJ  ” 


63 


.li’  LONG  LAKE 

“Oil,  I’li  be  careful,  Bessie,”  said  Dolly,  with 
a shudder.  “I’ll  do  whatever  I’m  told.  You 
needn’t  worry  about  that.” 

“That’s  good,  Dolly.  The  first  thing,  of  course, 
is  never  to  get  far  away  from  the  camp  alone. 
We  mustn’t  come  over  this  way  at  all,  or  go  any- 
where near  Loon  Pond  as  long  as  those  gypsies 
are  still  there.” 

“Oh,  Bessie,  do  you  think  we’ll  have  to  tell 
Miss  Eleanor  about  this?” 

“I’m  afraid  so,  Dolly.  But  there’s  no  reason 
why  you  should  mind  doing  that.  She  won’t 
blame  you,  it  really  wasn’t  your  fault.” 

“Yes,  it  was,  Bessie.  Don’t  you  remember  the 
way  I changed  the  signs?  If  I hadn’t  done  that 
we  wouldn’t  have  gone  to  Loon  Pond,  and  if  we 
hadn’t  gone  there—” 

“We  wouldn’t  have  seen  the  gypsies?  Yes,  I 
know,  Dolly.  But  Miss  Eleanor  is  fair,  you  know 
that.  And  she  may  scold  you  for  playing  the 
trick  with  the  signs,  but  that’s  all.  She  won’t 
blame  you  for  having  misunderstood  that  gypsy.” 

Then  they  came  to  the  crossing  of  the  trails, 
and  Dolly  replaced  the  signs  as  they  had  been  be- 
fore she  had  played  her  thoughtless  prank. 

“We  must  hurry  along,  Dolly,”  said  Bessie. 
“It’s  getting  dark,  and  we  don’t  want  to  be  out 
here  when  it’s  too  dark.  I think  it’s  safe  enough, 
but—  ’ ’ 

“Oh,  suppose  that  horrid  gypsy  followed  us 


64 


'THE  CAMP  PIEE  GIELS 


througli  the  woods,  Bessie?  That’s  what  you 
mean,  isn’t  it?  Let’s  get  hack  to  the  camp  just 
as  fast  as  ever  we  can.” 

“Bessie,  I’m  an  awful  coward,  I’m  afraid,’^ 
Dolly  said,  as  the  camp  was  approached.  “Will 
you  tell  Miss  Eleanor  what  happened;  everything? 
I’m  afraid  that  if  I told  her  myself  I wouldn’t 
put  in  what  I did  wdth  the  signs.” 

“You  wouldn’t  tell  her  a story,  Dolly?” 

“'No,  hut  I might  just  not  tell  her  that.  You 
see,  I wouldn’t  have  really  to  tell  her  a story,  and, 
oh,  Bessie,  I want  her  to  know  all  about  it.  Then 
if  she  scolds  me,  all  right.  Can’t  you  under- 
stand?” 

“I’ll  do  it  if  you  like,  Dolly,  hut  I’m  quite  sure 
you’d  tell  her  everything  yourself.  You’re  not  a 
hit  of  a coward,  Dolly,  because  when  you’ve  done 
something  wrong  you  never  try  to  pretend  that 
it  was  the  fault  of  someone  else,  or  an  accident.” 

“Do  you  think  I ought  to  tell  Miss  Eleanor  my- 
self?” said  Dolly,  wistfully.  “I  will  if  you  say 
so,  Bessie,  hut  I’d  much  rather  not.” 

“No,  I’ll  tell  her,”  Bessie  decided.  “I  think 
you’re  mistaken  about  yourself,  Dolly,  and  the 
reason  I’m  going  to  tell  her  is  because  I think 
you’d  make  her  think  you  were  worse  than  you 
were,  instead  of  not  telling  her  the  whole  thing. 
Do  you  see?” 

“You’re  ever  so  good,  Bessie.  Really,  I’m  go- 
ing to  try  to  stop  worrying  you  so  much  after 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


65 


this.  It  seems  to  me  that  you’re  always  having 
things  to  bother  you  on  account  of  me.” 

Miss  Eleanor,  at  first,  like  Dolly,  was  inclined 
to  laugh  at  what  Bessie  told  her  of  the  gypsy  and 
his  absurd  suggestion  that  Dolly  should  stay  with 
his  tribe  until  she  was  old  enough  to  be  married 
to  him. 

“Why,  he  must  have  been  joking,  Bessie,”  she 
said.  “You  say  he  talked  well;  as  if  he  were 
educated?  Then  he  surely  knows  that  no  Ameri- 
can girl  would  take  such  an  idea  seriously  for  a 
moment.” 

“But  American  girls  do  live  with  the  gypsied 
and  marry  them.  Miss  Eleanor.  Often,  I’ve  heard 
of  that.  And  if  you’d  seen  him  when  he  got  in 
our  way  on  the  trail  you’d  know  why  he  fright- 
ened me.  His  face  was  perfectly  black,  he  wafe 
so  angry.  And  when  Dolly  laughed  at  him  he 
looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  beat  her,” 

“I  can  understand  that,”  laughed  Miss  Eleanor. 
“I’ve  wanted  to  beat  Dolly  myself  sometimes 
when  she  laughed  when  she  was  being  scolded  for 
something!” 

“Oh,  but  this  was  different,”  said  Bessie, 
earnestly.  “Eeally,  Miss  Eleanor,  you’d  have 
been  frightened  too,  if  you’d  seen  him.  And  I do 
think  Dolly  ought  to  be  very  careful  until  they’ve 
gone  away  from  Loon  Pond.” 

Bessie  was  so  serious  that  Miss  Eleanor  was 
impressed,  almost  despite  herself. 


66 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


‘‘Well,  yes,  she  must  be  careful,  of  course.  I 
don’t  want  the  girls  going  over  to  Loon  Pond, 
anyway.  I want  them  to  have  this  time  in  the 
woods,  and  live  in  a natural  way,  and  the  Loon 
Pond  people  at  the  hotel  just  spoil  the  woods  for 
me.  But  I don’t  believe  there’s  any  reason  for 
being  really  frightened,  Bessie.” 

“Suppose  that  man  tried  to  carry  her  off?” 

“Oh,  he  wouldn’t  dare  to  try  anything  like 
that,  Bessie.  I don’t  believe  the  gypsies  are  half 
as  bad  as  they  are  painted,  anyhow’,  but,  even  if 
he  would  be  willing  to  do  it,  he’d  be  afraid.  The 
guides  would  soon  run  him  out  of  the  preserve 
if  they  found  him  here ; no  one  is  supposed  to  be 
on  it,  without  permission.  And  a gypsy  couldn’t 
get  that,  I know.” 

“But  it’s  a pretty  big  place,  and  there  aren’t 
so  very  many  guides.  We  didn’t  see  one  to-day, 
and  we  really  took  quite  a long  walk.” 

“But,  Bessie,  what  would  he  do  with  her  if  he 
did  carry  her  off?  Those  people  travel  along  the 
roads,  and  they  travel  slowly.  He  must  know 
that  if  anything  happened  to  Dolly,  or  if  she  dis- 
appeared, he’d  be  suspected  right  away,  and  he’d 
be  chased  everywhere  he  went.” 

“I  think  it  would  be  easy  to  hide  someone  in 
their  caravans,  though.  Miss  Eleanor.  And  those 
people  stick  together,  so  that  no  one  would  betray 
him  if  he  did  anything  like  that.  We  might  be 
perfectly  sure  that  he  had  done  it,  but  we  wouldn’t 
be  able  to  prove  it.” 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


67 


“I’ll  speak  to  the  guides  and  have  them  keep 
a good  watch  in  the  direction  of  Loon  Pond, 
Bessie.  There,  will  that  make  you  feel  any  bet- 
ter? And  those  gypsies  won’t  stay  over  there 
very  long.  They  never  do.  ” 

“Have  they  been  here  before,  Miss  Eleanor?” 

“Oh,  yes;  every  year  when  I’ve  been  here.” 

“Well,  I’ll  feel  better  when  they’ve  gone.  Miss 
Eleanor.  ’ ’ 

“So  will  1.  You’ve  made  me  quite  nervous, 
Bessie.  I think  you’d  better  tell  Dolly,  and  be 
careful  yourself,  not  to  tell  the  other  girls  any- 
thing about  this.  There’s  no  use  in  scaring  them, 
and  making  them  feel  nervous,  too.” 

“No.  I thought  of  that,  too.  Some  of  them 
would  be  frightened,  I’m  sure.  I think  Zara 
would  be.  She ’s  been  very  nervous,  anyhow,  ever 
since  we  got  her  away  from  that  awful  house 
where  Mr.  Holmes  had  hidden  her  away  from 
us.”  . 

“I  don’t  blame  her  a bit;  I would  be,  too.  It 
was  really  a dreadful  experience,  Bessie,  and  par- 
ticularly because  she  knew  it  wa^,  in  a way,  her 
own  fault.” 

“You  mean  because  she  believed  what  they  said 
about  being  her  friends,  and  that  she  would  get 
you  and  me  into  trouble  unless  she  went  with  them 
that  night  when  they  came  for  her?” 

“Yes.  Poor  Zara!  I’m  afraid  she  guessed, 
somehow,  that  I had  been  angry  with  her,  at  first. 


m 


THE  CAMP  FIHE  GIKLS 


She’s  terribly  sensitive,  and  she  seems  to  be  able 
to  gness  what’s  in  your  mind  when  you’ve  really 
scarcely  thought  the  things  yourself.” 

“Weil,  I think  it  will  be  a good  thing  if  she 
doesn’t  know  about  this  gypsy  trouble.  Miss 
Eleanor.  S9  I’ll  go  and  find  Holly,  and  tell  her 
not  to  say  anything.” 

“Do,  Bessie.  And  get  Dolly  to  come  to  me  be- 
fore dinner.  She  wms  wrong  to  play,  that  trick 
with  the  signs,  but  I don’t  mean  to  scold  her.  I 
want  to  comfort  her,  instead.  I think  she’s  been 
punished  enough  already  if  she’s  really  fright- 
ened about  that  gypsy.”  i 


Dolly  seemed  to  be  a good  deal  chastened,'  after 
her  talk  with  Eleanor,  and  Bessie  felt  glad  that 
the  Guardian,  though  she  evidently  did  not  take 
the  episode  of  the  gypsy  as  seriously  as  did 
Bessie,  had  still  thought  it  worth  while  to  let 
Dolly  think  she  did. 

“I’m  going  to  stay  close  to  the  camp  after  this, 
Bessie,”  she  said.  “And,  oh.  Miss  Eleanor  said 
that  there  were  footprints  this  morning  near  the 
water  that  a deer  must  have  made.  I’ve  got  my 
camera  here;  suppose  we  try  to  get  a picture  of 
one  to-night?  We  could  go  to  sleep  early,  and  then 
get  up.  Miss  Eleanor  said  it  would  be  all  right, 
just  for  the  two  of  us.  She  said  if  any  more  sat 
up  it  would  frighten  the  deer.” 

“All  right,”  agreed  Bessie.  “That  would  be 
lots  of  fun.  ’ ’ 


I.ONG  LAKE 


69 


So  they  slept  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  then,  about 
midnight,  got  up  and  went  down  to  the  shore  of 
the  lake,  to  a spot  where  a narrow  trail  came  out 
of  the  woods.  There  they  hid  themselves  behind 
some  brush  and  placed  Dolly’s  camera  and  a flash- 
light powder,  to  be  ready^  in  case  the  deer  ap- 
peared. 

They  waited  a long  time.  But  at  last  there  was 
a rustling  in  the  trees,  and  they  could  hear  the 
branches  being  pushed  aside  as  some  creature 
made  its  way  slowly  toward  the  water. 

“All  ready,  Bessie?”  whispered  Dolly.  “When 
I give  you  a squeeze  press  that  button;  that  will 
set  the  flashlight  off,  and  I’ll  take  the  picture  as 
you  do  it.  ” 

They  waited  tensely,  and  Bessie  was  as  excited 
as  Dolly  herself.  She  felt  as  if  she  could  scarcely 
wait  for  the  signal.  Dolly  held  her  left  hand  loose- 
ly, and  two  or  three  times  she  thought  the  grip 
was  tightening.  But  the  signal  came  at  last,  and 
there  was  a blinding  flash.  But  it  was  not  a deer 
which  stood  out  in.  the  glare ; it  was  the  gypsy  who 
had  pursued  Dolly ! 


CHAPTER  VII 


A THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT 

The  glare  of  the  explosion  lasted  for  only  a 
moment.  Dolly's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  camera, 
as  she  bent  her  head  down,  and  Bessie  realized, 
thankfully,  that  she  had  not  seen  the  evil  face  of 
the  gypsy.  As  for  the  man,  he  cried  out  once,  but 
the  sound  of  his  voice  was  drowned  by  the  noise 
of  the  explosion.  And  then,  as  soon  as  the  flash- 
light powder  had  burned  out,  the  light  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a darkness  so  black  that  no  one  could 
have  seen  anything,  so  great  was  the  contrast  be- 
tween it  and  the  preceding  illumination. 

“Come,  Dolly!  Quick!  Don’t  stop  to  argue! 
Bun!”  urged  Bessie. 

She  seized  Dolly’s  hand  in  hers,  and  made  otf, 
running  down  by  the  lake,  and,  for  a few  steps, 
actually  through  the  water.  Her  one  object  was 
to  get  back  to  the  camp  as  quickly  as  possible. 
She  thought,  and  the  event  proved  that  she  was 
right,  the  gypsy,  if  he  saw  them  nearing  the  camp 
fire,  which  was  still  burning  brightly,  would  not 
dare  to  follow  them  very  closely. 

He  had  no  means  of  knowing  that  there  were  no 
men  in  the  camp,  and,  while  he  might  not  have 
been  afraid  to  follow  them  right  into  camp  had 

70 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


71 


he  known  that,  Bessie  judged  correctly  that  he 
would  take  no  more  chances  than  were  necessary. 

“Bessie,  are  yon  crazy!”  gasped  Dolly,  as  they 
came  into  the  circle  of  light  from  the  fire.  “My 
feet  are  all  wet!  ¥7hatever  is  the  matter  with 
you!  You  nearly  made  me  smash  rny  camera!” 

“I  don’t  care,”  said  Bessie,  panting,  hut  im- 
mensely relieved.  “Sit  down  here  by  the  fire  and 
take  off  your  shoes  and  stocldngs;  they’ll  soon  get 
dry.  I ’m  going  to  do  it.  ” 

She  was  as  good  as  her  w’ord,  and  not  until  they 
had  dried  their  feet  and  set  the  slices  and  stock- 
ings to  dry,  would  she  explain  what  had  caused 
her  wild  dash  from  the  scene  of  the  trap  they  had 
laid  for  the  deer,  and  which  had  so  nearly  proved 
to  be  a trap  for  them,  instead. 

“If  you’d  looked  up  when  that  powder  went  off 
you’d  have  ran  yourself,  Dolly,  without  being 
made  to  do  it,”  she  said,  then.  “That  wasn’t 
a deer  -we  heard,  Dolly.  ” 

“What  was  it,  a hear  or  some  sort  of  a wild 
animal!” 

“No,  it  was  a man.” 

Dolly’s  face  was  pale,  even  in  the  ruddy  glow  of 
the  fire. 

“You  don’t  mean— it  wasn’t—” 

“The  gypsy?  Yes,  that’s  just  who  it  was, 
Dolly.  He’s  found  out  somehow  where  we  are, 
you  see.  It’s  just  what  I was  afraid  of,  that  he 
would  manage  to  follow  us  over  here.  But  I’m 


72 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


not  afraid  now,  as  long  as  we  know  he’s  around. 
I don’t  see  how  he  can  possibly  do  you  any  harm,” 

“Oh,  Bessie,  what  a lucky,  lucky  thing  that  we 
saw  him!  If  we  hadn’t  just  happened  to  try  to 
get  tha,t  picture  we  would  never  have  done  it.  The 
nasty  brute ! The  idea  of  his  daring  to  follow 
us  over  here.  Do  you  think  he  would  have  really 
tried  to  carry  me  back  to  his  tribe,  Bessie  ? ’ ’ 

“I  don’t  know,  Dolly.  His  face  looked  avffiil 
when  I saw  it  in  the  glare.  But  then,  of  course, 
he  was  terribly  surprised.  He  probably  thought 
he  was  the  only  soul  awake  for  miles  and  miles, 
and  to  have  that  thing  go  off  in  one’s  face  would 
startle  anybody,  and  make  them  look  pretty 
scary.” 

“I  should  say  so!  You  have  to  pucker  up  your 
face  and  shut  your  eyes.  Do  you  think  he  saw 
us,  Bessie!” 

“I  shouldn’t  think  it  was  very  likely,  Dolly. 
You  see,  it’s  just  as  you  say.  The  glare  of  a 
flashlight  is  blinding,  when  it  goes  oft'  suddenly 
like  that,  right  in  front  of  you.  I don’t  think 
you’re  likely  to  see  much  of  anything  except  the 
glare.  And,  of  course,  he  hadn’t  the  slightest  rea- 
son to  be  expecting  to  see  us.  I expect  he’s  more 
puzzled  and  frightened  than  we  are;  he’s  certain- 
ly a good  deal  more  puzzled.” 

“Then  maybe  he’ll  be  so  frightened  that  he’ll 
go  back  to  his  people  and  let  me  alone,  Bessie.” 

“I  certainly  hope  so,  Dolly.  It  really  doesn’t 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


73 


seem  possible  that  be’d  dare  to  carry  yon  off,  even 
if  he  could  get  hold  of  you.  He’d  know  that  we’d 
be  sure  to  suspect  that  he  was  the  one  who  had 
done  iV  and  even  a gypsy  ought  to  know  what 
happens  to  people  who  do  things  like  that.  I don’t 
see  how  he  could  hope  to  escape.” 

“But,  Bessie,  I was  thinking:  suppose  he  didn’t 
carry  me  to  the  place  where  the  other  gypsies  are  ? 
Suppose  he  took  rne  right  off  into  the  woods  some- 
where, and  hid?” 

“You’d  both  have  to  have  food,  Holly,  And  as 
he  couldn’t  get  that  very  easily,  he’d  be  taking  a 
big  chance  of  getting  caught.  No,  what  I really 
think  is  that  he  wants  to  see  you,  and  try  to  per- 
suade you  to  go  with  him  willingly.  Then  he 
wouldn’t  be  in  any  danger,  you  see.” 

“Ugh!  He  must  be  an  awful  fool  to  think  he 
could  do  that!” 

“Well,  he’s  not  bad  looking,  Dolly.  And  he’s 
probably  vain.  The  chances  are  that  all  the  gypsy 
girls  set  their  caps  at  him,  because,  if  you  remem- 
ber, he  was  about  the  only  good  looking  young 
man  there  in  their  camp.  Most  of  the  men  were 
married.  So,  if  he’s  always  been  popular  with 
the  girls  of  his  own  people,  he  may  have  got  the 
idea  that  he’s  quite  irresistible.  That  all  he’s  got 
to  do  is  to  tell  a girl  he  wants  to  marry  her  to 
have  her  fall  right  into  his  apns,  like  a ripe  apple 
falling  from  a tree.” 

‘ ‘ The  horrid  brute ! If  he  ever  comes  near  me 
again,  I’ll  slap  his  face  for  him.” 


74 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


“You’d  better  not  do  anything  of  the  sort.  The 
best  thing  for  you  to  do  if  yon  ever  see  him  any- 
where near  you  again  is  to  run,  just  as  hard  as 
you  can.  Dolly,  you’ve  no  idea  of  the  rage  a man 
like  that  can  fly  into.  If  you  struck  him  you  can ’t 
tell  what  he  might  try  to  do.  But  I hope  you’ll 
never  see  him  again.” 

Dolly  shivered  a little. 

“Are  you  sleepy,  Bessie?”  she  asked. 

“No,  I think  I’m  too  excited  to  be  sleepy.  It 
was  so  startling  to  be  expecting  to  see  a deer,  and 
then  to  see  his  face  in  the  light.  No,  I’m  not 
sleepy.” 

“Oh,  Bessie!  Isn’t  it  possible  that  you  were 
mistaken?  You  know,  you  couldn’t  have  seen  his 
face  for  more  than  a moment,  if  you  did  see  it. 
Weren’t  you  thinking  so  much  of  that  gypsy  that 
you  just  fancied  you  saw  him,  when  you  really 
didn’t  at  all?” 

1 “No,  no,  I’m  quite  sure,  Dolly.  I was  perfectly 
certain  it  was  a deer,  and  that  was  all  I was  think- 
ing about.  And  I heard  him  cry  out,  too.  That 
would  be  enough  to  make  me  certain  that  I was 
right.  A deer  wouldn’t  have  cried  out,  and  it 
wouldn’t  have  stood  perfectly  still,  either.  It 
would  have  turned  around  and  run  as  soon  as  it 
saw  the  light;  any  animal  would  have.  It  would 
have  been  too  terrified  to  do  anything  else.” 

“But  don’t  you  suppose  he  was  frightened? 
Why  didn’t  he  run?” 


LONG  LAKE 


75 


“Were  you  ever  so  frightened  that  you  couldn’t 
do  a thing  but  just  stand  still?  I have  been;  so 
frightened  that  I couldn’t  even  have  cried  out 
for  help,  and  couldn’t  have  moved  for  a minute 
or  so,  for  anything  in  the  world. 

“I  think  he  may  have  been  frightened  that  way. 
Men  aren’t  like  animals,  they’re  more  likely  to  be 
too  frightened  to  move  than  to  run  away  because 
they’re  afraid.  And  the  fear  that  makes  a man 
run  away  is  a different  sort,  anyhow.  ’ ’ 

“It’s  getting  cold,  isn’t  it?” 

“Yes,  the  fire’s  burning  low.  We’d  better  get 
to  bed,  Dolly.” 

“Oh,  no;  I couldn’t.  I don’t  want  to  be  there 
in  the  dark.  I’m  sure  I couldn’t  sleep  if  I -went 
to  bed.  I’d  much  rather  sit  out  here  by  the  fire 
and  talk,  if  you’re  not  sleepy.  And  you  said  you 
weren’t.” 

“I  suppose  we  could  get  some  more  wood  and 
throw  it  on  the  fire.  It  would  be  warm  enough 
then,  if  we  got  a couple  of  blankets  to  wrap  around 
us.” 

“I  think  it’s  a good  idea  to  stay  awake  and 
keep  watch,  anyhow,  in  case  he  should  come  back. 
Then,  if  he  saw  some  one  sitting  up  by  the  fire 
he  would  be  scared  off,  I should  think.” 

' ‘ All  right.  Slip  in  as  quietly  as  you  can,  Dolly, 
and  get  our  blankets  from  the  tent,  while  I put  on 
some  more  wood.  There’s  lots  of  it,  that’s  a good 
thing.  Thei'e’s  no  reason  why  we  shouldn’t  use 
it.” 


76 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


So,  while  Dolly  crept  into  their  tent  to  get  the 
blankets,  Bessie  piled  wood  high  on  the  embers 
of  the  camp  fire,  until  the  sparks  began  to  fly,  and 
the  wood  began  to  burn  with  a high,  clear  flame. 
And  when  Dolly  returned  she  had  with  her  a box 
of  marshmallows. 

“Now  we’ll  have  a treat,”  she  said.  “I  for- 
got all  about  these.  I didn’t  remember  I’d  brought 
them  with  me.  Give  me  a pointed  stick  and  I’U 
toast  you  one.” 

Bessie  looked  on  curiously.  The  joys  of  toasted 
marshmallows  were  new  to  her,  but  when  she 
tasted  her  first  one  she  was  prepared  to  agree 
with  Dolly  that  they  were  just  the  things  to  eat 
in  such  a spot. 

“I  never  liked  them  much  before,”  said  Bessie. 
“They’re  ever  so  much  better  when  they’re 
toasted  this  way.” 

“They’re  good  for  you,  too,”  said  Dolly,  her 
mouth  full  of  the  soft  confection.  “At  least, 
that’s  what  everyone  says,  and  I know  they’ve 
never  hurt  me.  Sometimes  I eat  so  much  candy 
that  I don’t  feel  well  afterwards,  but  it’s  never 
been  that  vray  with  toasted  marshmallows.  My, 
but  I’m  glad  I found  that  box!” 

“So’m  I,”  admitted  Bessie.  “It  seems  to  make 
the  time  pass  to  have  them  to  eat.  Here,  let  me 
toast  some  of  them,  now.  You’re  doing  all  the 
work.”  1 

“I  will  not,  you’d  spoil  them.  It  takes  a lot  of 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


77 


skill  to  toast  ffiarshmallows  properly,”  Dolly 
boasted.  “Heavens,  Bessie,  when  there  is  some- 
thing I can  do  well,  let  me  do  it.  Aunt  Mabel 
says  she  thinks  I’d  be  a good  cook  if  I world  put 
my  mind  to  it,  but  that’s  only  because  she  likes 
the  fudge  I make.” 

“How  do  you  make  fudge?” 

“Why,  Bessie  King!  Do  you  mean  to  say  you 
don’t  know?  I thought  you  were  such  a goo<J 
cook ! ” 

“I  never  said  so,  Dolly.  I had  to  do  a lot  of 
cooking  at  the  farm  when  Maw  Hoover  wasn’t 
well,  but  she  never  let  me  do  anything  but  cook 
plain  food.  That’s  the  only  sort  we  ever  had,, 
anyhow.  So  I never  got  a chance  to  leam  to  make 
fudge  or  anything  like  that.” 

“Well,  I’ll  teach  you,  when  we  get  a good 
chance,  Bessie,”  promised  Dolly,  seriously. 

“I’ll  be  glad  to  take  lessons  from  you,  Dolly,’*" 
she  said.  “I  think  it  v/ould  be  fine  to  Imow  how 
to  make  all  sorts  of  candy.  Then,  if  you  did  Imow,, 
and  could  do  it  really  well,  you  could  make  lots 
of  it,  and  sell  it.  People  always  like  candy,  and 
in  the  city  a lot  of  the  shops  have  signs  saying" 
that  they  sell  Home  Made  Gandy  and  Pudge.  SO' 
people  must  like  it  better  than  the  sort  they  make 
in  factories.” 

“I  should  say  so,  Bessie.  But  most  of  those-^ 
stores  are  just  cheating  you,  because  the  stuff  they 
sell  isn’t  home  made  at  all.  Everyone  says  mine- 
is  much  better'.” 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


18 

Bessie  grew  serious. 

*‘Wiiy,  Dolly,”  she  said,  ‘1  think  it  would  he 
a.  fine  idea  to  make  candy  to  sell ! I really  believe 
I’d  like  to  do  that—” 

“I  bet  you  would  make  just  lots  and  lots  of 
money  if  you  did,”  said  Dolly,  taking  hold  of  a 
aew  idea,  as  she  always  did,  with  enthusiasm. 
"‘  And  we  could  get  one  of  the  stores  to  sell  it  for 
and  keep  some  of  the  money  for  their  trouble. 
Suppose  we  sold  it  for  fifty  cents  a pound,  the 
store  would  get  twenty  or  twenty-five  cents  and 
we’d  get  the  rest.  And—” 

Bessie  laughed. 

“You’re  not  forgetting  that  it  costs  something 
to  make,  are  you?”  she  asked.  “You  have  to  allow 
for  what  it  costs  before  you  begin  to  think  of  how 
you’re  going  to  spend  your  profits.  But  I really 
do  think  it  would  work,  Dolly.  When  we  get  back 
to  town  we’ll  figure  it  all  out,  and  see  how  much 
it  would  cost  for  butter  and  sugar  and  nuts  and 
■chocolate  and  all  the  things  we’d  need.” 

“Yes,  and  if  we  used  lots  of  things  we’d  get 
them  cheaper,  too,  Bessie,”  said  Dolly,  surprising 
Bessie  by  this  exhibition  of  her  business  knowl- 
edge. '“Oh,  I think  that  would  be  fine.  I’d  just 
love  to  have  money  that  I ’d  earned  myself.  , Some 
of  the  other  girls  have  been  winning  honor  beads 
by  earning  money,  but  I never  could  think  of  any 
way  that  I could  do  it.” 

Dolly  was  beginning  to  yawn,  and  Bessie  herself 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


79 


felt  sleepy.  But  when  she  proposed  that  they 
should  go  into  the  tent  now  Dolly  protested. 

“Oh,  let’s  stay  outside,  Bessie, ”^she  said.  “If 
we  went  in  now  we’d  just  wake  ourselves  up.  We 
can  sleep  out  here  just  as  well  as  not.  ■ What's 
the  difference?” 

And  Bessie  was  so  sleepy  that  she  was  glad  to 
agree  to  that.  In  a few  moments  thej^-  were  sound 
asleep,  with  no  thought  of  the  exciting  episodes 
of  the  day  and  night  to  disturb  them. 

The  fire  was  low  when  Bessie  awoke  with  a 
start.  At  first  everything  seemed  all  right;  she 
could  hear  nothing.  But  then,  suddenly,  she 
looked  over  to  where  Dolly  had  been  lying.  There 
was  no  sign  of  her  chum!  And,  just  as  Bessie 
herself  was  about  to  cry  out,  she  heard  a muffled 
call,  in  Dolly’s  tones,  and  "then  a loud  crashing 
through  the  undergrowth  near  the  camp,  as  some- 
one or  something  made  off  swiftly  through  the 
woods!  The  gypsy  had  come  hack! 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE  PURSUIT 

For  a moment  Bessie  was  too  paralyzed  with , 
fear  even  to  cry  out.  It  was  plain  that  the  gypsy 
had  carried  poor  Dolly  away  with  him,  and  that, 
moreover,  he  had  muffled  her  one  cry  for  help. 
For  a moment  Bessie  stood  wondering  what  to 
do.  To  alarm  the  camp  would  be  almost  useless, 
she  felt;  the  girls,  waking  up  out  of  a sound  sleep, 
could  do  nothing  imtil  they  understood  what  had 
happened,  and  even  then  the  chances  were  against 
their  being  able  to  help  in  any  practical  man- 
ner. 

And  so  Bessie  fought  down  that  blind  instinct 
to  scream  out  her  terror,  and,  in  a moment,  throw- 
ing off  her  blanket,  she  began  to  creep  out  into 
the  black  woods,  dark  now  as  pitch,  and  as  im- 
penetrable, it  seemed,  as  one  of  the  tropical 
jungles  she  had  read  of. 

One  thing  Bessie  felt  to  be,  above  everything, 
necessary.  She  musf  find  out  what  the  gypsy 
meant  to  do,  and  where  he  was  taking  Dolly.  If, 
by  some  lucky  chance,  she  could  track  him,  there 
would  be  a far  better  opportunity  to  rescue  Dolly 
in  the  morning,  when  the  guides  would  be  called 
to  help,  and,  if  necessary,  men  from  the  hotel 
at  Loon  Pond  and  other  places  in  the  woods.  To 

80 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


81 


such  a call  for  help,  Bessie  knew  well  there  would 
be  an  instant  response. 

‘‘He’ll  never  go  back  to  the  camp,”  Bessie  told 
herself,  trying  to  argue  the  problem  out,  so  that 
she  might  overlook  none  of  the  points  that  were 
involved,  amd  that  might  make  so  much  difference 
to  poor  Dolly,  who  wms  paying  so  dear  a price  for 
her  prank.  “If  he  did,  he’d  be  sure  that  there 
would  be  people  there,  looking  for  him,  as  soon  as 
the  word  got  around  that  Dolly  was  missing.” 

She  stopped  for  a moment,  to  listen  attentively, 
but  though  the  woods  were  full  of  slight  noises, 
she  heard  nothing  that  she  could  decide  positively 
was  the  gypsy.  Still,  burdened  as  he  was  with 
Dolly,  it  seemed  to  Bessie  that  he  must  make  some 
noise,  no  matter  how  skillful  a woodsman  he  might 
be,  and  how  miich  training  he  had  had  in  silent 
traveling  in  his  activities  as  a poacher  and,  hunter 
of  game  in  woods  where  keepers  were  on  guard. 

“He’ll  find  out  some  place  where  they’re  not 
likely  to  look  for  him,  and  stay  there  until  the 
people  around  here  have  given  up  the  idea  of  find- 
ing him,”  said  Bessie  to  herself.  “That’s  why 
I’ve  got  to  follow  him  now.  And  I’m  sure  he’s 
on  one  the  trails;  he  couldn’t  carry  Dolly  through 
the  thick  woods,  no  one  could.  Oh,  I wish  I could 
hear  something!” 

That  wish,  for  the  time,  at  least,  was  to  be  de- 
nied, but  it  was  not  long  before  Bessie,  still  tramp- 
ing through  thick  undergrowth  in  the  direction 


82 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


she  was  sure  her  quarry  had  taken,  came  to  a 
break  in  the  woods,  where  it  was  a little  lighter, 
and  she  could  see  her  way. 

She  saw  at  once  that  she  had  come  to  a trail, 
and,  though  she  had  never  seen  it  before,  she 
guessed  that  it  was  the  one  that  led  to  Deer 
Mountain,  from  what  Miss  Eleanor  had  told  her 
about  the  trails  about  the  camp.  And,  moreover, 
as  she  started  to  follow  it,  convinced  that  the 
gypsy,  on  finding  it,  would  have  abandoned  the 
rougher  traveling  of  the  uncut  woods,  she  saw 
something  that  almost  wrung  a cry  of  startled 
joy  from  her. 

It  was  not  mnch  that  she  saw,  only  a fragment 
of  ^vhite  cloth,  caught  in  the  branches  of  a hush 
that  had  pushed  itself  out  onto  the  trail.  But 
it  was  as  good  as  a long  letter,  for  the  cloth  was 
from  Dolly’s  dress,  and  it  was  plain  and  unmis- 
takable evidence  that  her  chum  had  been  carried 
along  this  trail. 

She  vfalked  on  more  quickly  now,  pausing  about 
once  in  a hundred  yards  to  listen  for  sounds  of 
those  who  were,  as  she  was  convinced,  ahead  of 
her,  and,  about  half  a mile  beyond  the  spot  where 
she  had  found  that  white  pointer,  she  saw  another 
piece  of  mute  hut  convincing  evidence,  of  exactly 
the  same  sort,  and  caught  in  the  same  way. 

As  Bessie  kept  on,  the  ground  continued  to  rise, 
and  she  realized  that  she  must  be  on  the  crest 
of  Deer  Mountain,  one  of  the  heights  that  lifted 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


81? 


itself  above  the  level  of  the  surrounding  woods- 
Altbougli  a high  mountain,  the  climb  from  Long 
Lake  was  not  a particularly  severe  one,  for  all  the 
ground  v/as  so  high  that  even  the  highest  peaks 
in  the  range  that  was  covered  by  these  woods  did 
not  seem,  unless  one  were  looking  at  them  from 
a distance  of  many  miles,  in  the  plain  below,  to 
be  as  high  as  they  really  were. 

The  trail  that  Bessie  follovfed,  as  she  knew,  was 
leading  her  directly  away  from  Loon  Pond  and 
the  gypsy  camp,  but  that  did  not  disturb  her,  since 
she  had  expected  the  gypsy  to  bear  away  from  his 
companions.  Her  mind  was  working  quickly  now,, 
and  she  wondered  just  how  far  the  gypsies  were 
likely  to  go  in  support  of  their  reckless  companion. 

She  knew  that  the  bonds  among  these  nomads 
were  very  strong,  but  there  was  another  element 
in  this  particular  case  that  might,  she  thought, 
complicate  matters.  Tlie  man  who  had  carried 
Dolly  off  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  the  dark 
eyed  girl  they  had  talked  with,  and  it  was  possible 
that  that  fact  might  make  trouble  for  him,  and 
prevent  him  from  receiving  the  aid  of  his  tribe, 
as  he  would  surely  have  done  in  any  ordinary 
struggle  with  the  laws  of  the  people  whom  the 
gypsies  seemed  to  despise  and  dislike. 

Undoubtedly  the  girl’s  parents,  if  she  had  any, 
would  resent  the  slight  he  was  casting  upon  their 
daughter,  and  if  they  were  powerful  or  influential 
in  the  tribe,  they  would  probably  try  to  get  him 


84 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


cast  otit,  and  cause  the  other  gypsies  to  refuse  him 
the  aid  he  was  probably  counting  upon. 

The  most  important  thing,  Bessie  still'  felt,  was 
to  find  out  where  Dolly  was  to  be  hidden.  And, 
as  she  pressed  on,  tired,  but  determined  not  to 
-give  up  what  seemed  to  her  to  be  the  best  chance 
of  rescuing  her  chum,  Bessie  looked  about  con- 
stantly for  some  fresh  evidence  of  Dolly’s  pres- 
ence. 

But  luck  was  not  to  favor  her  again.  Sharp  as 
was  her  watch,  there  were  no  more  torn  pieces  of 
Dolly’s  dress  to  guide  her,  and,  evei^  had  Bessie 
been  an  expert  in  woodcraft,  and  so  able  to  fol- 
low their  tracks,  it  was  too  dark  to  use  that  means 
of  tracing  them. 

Bessie,  did,  indeed,  think  of  that,  and  of  wait- 
ing imtil  some  guide  should  come,  who  might  be 
able  to  read  the  message  of  the  trail.  But  she  re- 
flected that  it  was  more  than  possible  that  none  of 
the  men  in  the  neighborhood  might  be  able  to  do 
so,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  better  to  take 
the  slim  chance  she  had  than  abandon  it  in  favor 
of  something  that  might,  after  all,  turn  out  to  be 
no  chance  at  all. 

The  darkness  was  beginning  to  yield  now  to  the 
first  forerunners  of  the  day.  In  the  east  there 
was  a faint  radiance  that  told  of  the  coming  of 
the  sim,  and  Bessie  hurried  on,  since  she  felt  sure 
that  the  gypsy  would  not  venture  to  travel  in  day- 
light, and  must  mean  to  hide  Dolly  before  the 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


.85 


coming  of  the  sun  lightened  the  task  of  his  pur- 
suers, since  he  must  feel  certain  that  he  would  he 
pursued,  although  he  might  have  no  inkling  that 
anyone  was  already  on  his  trail. 

But  now  Bessie  had  to  face  a new  problem  that 
did,  indeed,  force  her  to  rest.  For  suddenly,  the 
well  defined,  broad  trail  ended,  and  broke  up  into 
a series  of  smaller  paths.  Evidently  this  was  a 
spot  at  which  those  who  wished  to  reach  the  sum- 
mit of  the  mountain  took  diverging  paths,  accord- 
ing to  the  particular  spot  they  wanted  to  reach, 
and  whether  they  were  bound  on  a picnic  or 
merely  wanted  to  get  to  a spot  whence  they  might 
see  the  splendid  view  for  which  Deer  Mountain 
was  famed. 

In  the  darkness  there  was  absolutely  no  way  of 
telling  which  of  these  many  diverging  trails  the 
gypsy  had  followed,  and  Bessie,  ready  to  cry  with 
disappointment  and  anxiety  for  Dolly,  was  forced 
to  sit  down  on  a stump  and  wait  for  daylight. 
Even  tliat  might  not  help  her. 

Her  best  chance,  however,  was  fo  wait  until  the 
light  came,  and  then,  despite  her  lack  of  acquaint- 
ance with  the  art  of  reading  footprints,  to  try  to 
distinguish  those  of  the  gypsy.  All  that  she 
needed  was  some  clue  to  enable  her  to  guess  which 
path  her  quarry  had  taken;  beyond  that  the  mes- 
sage of  the  footprints  was  not  necessary. 

As  she  sat  there,  watching  the  slov/,  slow  lighten- 
ing in  the  east,  Bessie  wondered  if  the  day  was 


86 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


ever  coming.  Slie  had  seen  the  sun  rise  before, 
but  never  had  it  seemed  so  lazy,  so  inclined  to 
linger  in  its  couch  of  night. 

But  every  wait  comes  to  an  end  at  last,  and 
finally  Bessie  was  able  to  go  back  a little  way,  be- 
fore the  other  trails  began  to  branch  off,  and 
bending  over,  to  try  to  pick  out  the  footprints  of 
the  man  who  had  carried  Dolly  off.  It  was  easy  toi 
do,  fortunately,  or  Bessie  could  scarcely  have 
hoped  to  accomplish  it. 

There  had  been  a light  rain  the  previous  morn- 
ing, enough  to  soften,  the  ground  and  wipe  out 
the  traces  of  the  numerous  parties  that  had  made 
Deer  Mountain  the  objective  point  of  a tramp  in 
the  woods,  and,  mingled  with  her  own  small  foot- 
steps, Bessie  soon  found  the  marks  of  hobnailed 
feet,  that  must,  she  was  sure,  have  been  made 
by  the  gypsy. 

Step  by  step  she  followed  them,  and  she  was 
just  about  at  the  first  of  the  diverging  trails  when 
a sound  behind  her  made  her  turn,  terrified,  to 
see  who  was  approaching. 

But  it  was  not  the  man  who  had  so  frightened 
her  whom  she  saw  as  she  turned.  It  was  a girl— 
a gypsy,  to  be  sure— but  a girl,  and  Bessie  had  no 
fear  of  her,  even  when  she  saw  that  it  was  the 
same  girl  the  scamp  she  was  pursuing  was  to 
marry.  Moreover,  the  girl  seemed  as  surprised 
and  frightened  at  the  sight  of  Bessie,  crouching 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


87 


there,  as  Bessie  herself  had  been  at  the  other’s 
coming. 

“Where  is  he;  that  wicked  man  you  are  to 
marry?”  cried  Bessie,  fiercely,  springing  to  her 
feet,  and  advancing  upon  the  trembling  gypsy 
girl.  “You  shall  tell  me,  or  I will— ” 

She  seized  the  gypsy  girl’s  shoulders,  and  shook 
her,  before  she  realized  that  the  girl,  whose  eyes 
were  filled  with  tears,  probably  knew  as  little  as 
she  herself.  Then,  repentant,  she  released  her 
shoulders,  but  repeated  her  question. 

“You  mean  John,  my  man!”  said  the  girl,  a 
quiver  in  her  tones.  “I  do  not  know,  he  was  not 
at  the  camp  last  night.  I was  afraid.  I think  he 
does  not  love  me  any  more.” 

Something  about  the  way  she  spoke  made  Bessie 
pity  her. 

‘AVhat  is  your  name?”  she  asked. 

“Lolla,”  said  the  gypsy. 

“I  believe  you  do  not  know,  Lolla,”  said  Bessie^ 
kindly.  “And  you  do  not  want  him  to  be  sent 
to  prison,  perhaps  for  years  and  years,  do  yout 
You  love  this  John?” 

“Prison?  They  would  send  him  there?  What 
for?  No,  no— yes,  I love  him.  Do  you  know  where 
he  is;  where  he  was  last  night?” 

“I  know  where  he  was  last  night,  Lolla,  yes. 
He  came  to  our  camp  and  carried  my  friend  away. 
You  remember,  the  one  who  was  with  me  yester- 
day, when  we  looked  at  your  camp?  That  is  why 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


I am  looking  for  Mm,  He  says  lie  will  make  her 
marry  him  later  on ; that  he  will  keep  her  with 
your  tribe  until  she  is  ready.” 

Leila’s  tears  ceased  suddenly^  and  there  was  a 
gleam  of  passionate  anger  in  her  eyes. 

‘‘He  will  do  thats”  she  said,  angrily,  “My 
brothers,  they  will  kill  him  if  he  does  that.  He 
is  to  marry  me,  we  are  betrothed.  You  do  not 
know  where  he  is?  You  would  like  to  find  your 
friend?” 

“I  must,  Lolla.” 

“Then  I will  help  you,  if  you  will  help  me. 
Will  you?” 

Lolla  looked  intently  at  Bessie,  as  if  she  were 
trying  to  tell  from  her  eyes  whether  she  really 
meant  what  she  said. 

“Oh,  I v/ish  I knew  whether  you  are  good; 
whether  you  speak  the  truth,”  cried  the  gypsy  girl, 
passionately.  “That  other  girl,  your  friend.  She 
wants  my  John.  So—” 

Bessie,  serious  as  the  situation  was,  could  not 
help  iagghing. 

“Listen,  Lolla,”  she  said.  “You  mustn’t  think 
that.  Dolly— that’s  my  friend— thinks  John  is 
good  looking,  perhaps,  but  she  hasn’t  even  thought 
of  marrying  anyone  yet,  oh,  for  years  and  years, 
i^e’s  too  young.  We  don’t  get  married  as  early 
as  you.  So  you  may  be  sure  that  if  John  has 
her  all  she  wants  is  to  get  away  and  get  back 
te  her  friends,” 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


89 


Lolla’s  eyes  lighted  with  relief. 

“That  is  good,”  she  said.  “Then  I will  help, 
for  that  is  what  I want,  too.  I do  not  want  her 
to  live  in  the  tribe,  and  to  be  with  us.  Yon  are 
sure  John  has  taken  her?” 

Then  Bessie  told  her  of  the  face  they  had  seen 
in  the  flashlight,  and  of  how  Dolly  had  been 
spirited  away  from  the  camp  fire  afterward.  And 
as  she  spoke,  she  was  surprised  to  see  that  Lolla’s 
eyes  shone,  as  if  she  were  delighted  by  the  recital. 

“Why,  Lolla,  you  look  pleased!”  said  Bessie. 
“As  if  you  were  glad  it  had  happened.  How  can 
that  be ; how  can  you  seem  as  if  you  were  happy, 
about  it?” 

Lolla  blushed  slightly. 

“He  is  my  man,”  she  said,  simply.  “He  is 
strong  and  brave,  do  you  pot  see  ? If  he  were  not 
brave  he  would  not  dare  to  act  so.  He  is  a fine 
man.  If  I were  bad,  he  would  beat  me.  And  he 
will  beat  anyone  who  is  not  good  to  me.  Of  course 
I am  glad  that  hd  was  brave  enough  to  act  so, 
thou^  I did  not  want  him  to  do  it.” 

Bessie  laughed.  The  primitive,  elemental  idea 
that  was  expressed  in  Lolla’s  words  was  beyond 
her  comprehension,  and,  in  fact,  a good  many  peo- 
ple older  and  wiser  than  Bessie  do  not  understand! 
it. 

But  Lolla  did  not  mind  the  laugh.  She  did  not 
understand  what  was  in  Bessie’s  mind;  what  she 
had  said  seemed  so  simple  to  her  that  it  required 


90 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


no  es^>latiation.  And  now  her  mind  was  bent  en- 
tirely upon  the  problem  of  getting  Dolly  back  to 
her  friends,  in  order  that  John  might  turn  back  to 
ber  and  forget  the  American  girl  whose  appeal  to 
him  had  lain  chiefly  in  the  fact  that  she  was  so 
different  from  the  women  of  his  o^vn  race. 

“He  will  not  take  her  back  to  camp,”  said  Lolla, 
thoughtfully. ' “He  knows  they  would  look  there 
first.” 

“But  will  the  others— your  people— help  him?” 

“He  may  tell  them  that  he  has  stolen  her  to  get 
a ransom;  to  keep  her  until  her  friends  pay  well 
for  her  to  be  returned.  Our  old  men  do  not  like 
that,  they  say  it  is  too  dangerous.  But  if  he  were 
to  say  that  he  had  done  so,  they  might  help  him, 
because  our  people  stand  and  fall  together.  But,” 
and  her  eyes  shone,  “I  will  tell  my  brothers  the 
truth.  They  will  believe  me,  and— Quick!  Hide 
in  those  bushes;  someone  is  coming!” 

Bessie  obeyed  instantly.  But,  once  she  had 
hidden  herself,  she  heard  nothing.  It  was  not  for 
a minute  or  more  after  she  had  slipped  into  the 
bushes  that  she  heard  the  sound  that  had  disturbed 
Lolla.  But  then,  looking  out,  she  saw  John  com- 
ing down  one  of  the  paths,  peering  about  him 
eautiously. 


CHAPTEE  IX 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ALLY 

Bessie’s  heart  leaped  at  the  sight  of  the  mao 
who  had  given  her  her  wild  tramp  through  the 
night,  and  it  was  ail  she  could  do  to  resist  her 
impulse  to  rush  out,  accuse  him  of  the  crime  she 
knew  he  had  committed,  and  demand  that  he  give 
Dolly  up  to  her  at  once.  It  was  hard  to  believe 
that  he  was  really  dangerous. 

Here,  in  the  early  morning  light,  his  clothes 
soaked  by  the  wet  woods,  as  were  Bessie ’s  for  that 
matter,  he  looked  very  cheap  and  tawdry,  and  not 
at  all  like  a man  to  be  feared.  But  a moment’s 
reflection  convinced  Bessie  that,  for  the  time  at 
least,  it  would  be  far  wiser  to  leave  mattei's  in 
the  hands  of  Lolla,  the  gypsy  girl,  who  under- 
stood this  man,  and,  if  she  feared  him,  and  with 
cause,  did  so  from  reasons  very  different  from 
Bessie ’s. 

For  a moment  after  he  came  in  sight  John  did 
not  see  Lolla.  Bessie  watched  the  pair,  so  differ- 
ent from  any  people  she  had  ever  seen  at  close 
range  before,  narrowly.  She  was  intensely  inter- 
ested in  Lolla,  and  wondered  mightily  what  the 
gypsy  girl  intended  to  do.  But  she  did  not  have 
long  to  wait. 

Lolla,  with  a little  cry,  rushed  forward,  and, 
91 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


oo 

casting  herself  on  the,  ground  at  her  lover’s  feet, 
seised  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  At  first  she  said 
not  a word;  only  looked. up  at  him  with  her  black, 
brilliant  eyes,  in  which  Bessie  could  see  that  a 
tear  was  glistening. 

“Lolla!  What  are  you  doing  here?” 

At  the  sight  of  the  girl  John  had  started,  ner- 
vously. It  was  plain  that  he  did  not  feel  secure; 
that  he  thought  his  pursuers  might,  even  thus 
early,  have  tracked  him  down,  and,  in  the  mo- 
ment before  he  had  recognized  Lolla  Bessie  saw 
him  quail,  while  his  face  whitened,  so  that  Bessie 
knew  he  was  afraid. 

That  Imowledge,  somehow,  comforted  her  vast- 
ly. It  removed  at  once  some  of  the  formidable 
quality  which  John  had  acquired  in  her  eyes 
when  he  stole  Dolly  after  the  fright  that  he  must 
have  had  when  the  flashlight  powder  exploded, 
almost  in  his  face.  But  Bessie  remembered  that 
he  had  plucked  up  his  courage  after  that  scare; 
the  chances  were  that  he  would  do  so  again  now. 

But,  if  Bessie  v/as  afraid  of  the  kidnapper, 
Lolla  was  not.  She  rose,  and  faced  him  defiantly. 
Bessie  thought  there  was  something  splencM  about 
the  gypsy  girl,  and  she  wondered  why  John,  with 
such  a girl  ready  and  anxious  to  marry  him,  had 
been  diverted  from  her  by  Dolly,  charming  though 
she  was. 

“I  have  come  to  save  you,  John,”  said  Leila. 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


93 


“Where  is  the  American  girl  yon  stole  from  her 
friends?” 

John  started,  evidently  surprised  by  Lolla’S 
knowledge  of  what  he  had  done,  and  said  some- 
thing, sharply,  in  the  gypsy  tongue,  which  Bessie, 
of  course,  could  not  understand.  Her  question, 
it  was  plain,  had  frightened,  as  well  as  startled 
him ; but  it  had  also  made  him  veiy  angry.  Lolla, 
however,  did  not  seem  to  mind  his  anger.  She 
faced  him  boldly,  without  giving  ground,  although 
he  had  moved  toward  her  with  a threatening  ges- 
ture of  his  uplifted  hand. 

‘ ‘ Hit  me,  if  you  will,  ’ ’ she  said.  ‘ ‘ I am  not  your 
wife  yet,  but  when  I am  it  will  be  your  right  to 
strike  me  if  you  wish.  But  I know  what  you 
have  done.  I know,  too,  that  the  Americans  know 
it.  Do  you  think  you  can  escape  from  these  woods 
without  being  caught?” 

John  stared  at  her  angrily. 

“I  am  going  now  to  the  camp,”  he  said,  “If 
they  come  looking  for  news  of  the  girl,  they  will 
find  me  there,  and  plenty  to  swear  that  I have 
been  there  all  this  night,  and  so  could  not  have 
done  what  they  charge.  My  tribe  will  help  me; 
it  is  my  right  to  call  upon  it  for  help.  ’ ’ 

“You  forget  me,”  said  Lolla,  dangerously.  “I 
will  swear  that  I saw  you  here,  where  I came  to 
look  for  you  because  you  had  stayed  away  from 
the  camp  all  the  night.  And  when  I tell  my 
brothers,  what  will  they  swear?” 


94 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


Again  tlie  man  muttered  sometliing  in  tlie  gypsy 
tongue,  but  under  bis  breath.  When  he  spoke 
aloud  to  Lolla  it  was  in  English. 

“They  are  Barlomengri;  they  will  support  me. 
They  will  never  let  the  policemen  take  me  away. 
They  are  my  brothers—” 

“Do  you  think  you  can  jilt  their  sister,  the  girl 
you  asked  for  as  your  wife  before  all  the  tribe, 
and  escape  their  vengeance?  Do  ymu  think  they 
will  not  punish  you,  even  by  seeing  that  you  die 
in  a prison,  in  a cell?” 

And  now  John,  beside  himself  with  anger,  ful- 
filled the  threat  of  his  uplifted  hand,  and  struck 
Lolla  sharply. 

“Strike  me  again!”  cried  Lolla,  furiouslya  “I 
have  done  no  wrong!  I am  trying  only  to  save 
you  from  your  own  folly.  Tell  me,  at  least,  where 
you  have  hidden  the  girl?  Would  you  have  her 
starve?  Yon  will  be  watched,  so  that  you  may 
not  bring  her  food.  Had  you  thought  of  that?” 

“Will  you  betray  me?  If  you  do  not  I shall 
not  be  watched.  They  will  know  as  soon  as  they 
look  for  me  that  I was  in  the  camp  all  through 
the  night.  Lolla,  you  fool,  I love  you,,  only  you. 
I want  her  to  win  a ransom.  They  will  pay  to 
have  her  back,  those  Americans.” 

Lolla  had  guessed  right  when  she  had  said  that 
this  would  be  his  plea.  But  Bessie  was  surprised, 
and  thought  Lolla  must  also  wonder  at  his  telling 
her  such  a story.  Lolla  looked  scornfully  at  John. 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


95 


‘‘I  am  no  baby  that  I should  believe  such  a tale 
as  that,”  she  said,  witheringly.  “I  give  you  your 
cbanee,  John,  your  last  chance.  Will  you  take 
this  girl  back  to  her  people,  or  set  her  free  and 
show  her  the  road!  Or  must  I bear  witness 
against  you,  and  tell  the  tribe  that  you  would 
shame  me  by  forsaking  me  even  before  I am  your 
wife ! ” 

“Let  me  go,”  said  John,  furiously.  “We  shall 
see  if  a woman’s  talk  is  to  be  taken  before  mine. 
You  fool ! Even  your  brothers  will  laugh  at  your 
jealousy,  and  rejoice  with  me  over  the  money  this 
girl  will  bring  us.  Let  me  pass  — ” 

“Tell  me,  at  least,  where  you  have  hidden  her! 
She  will  starve,  I tell  you—” 

“She  will  not  starve.  Think  you  I know  no 
more  than  that  of  doing  such  a piece  of  work?  It 
is  not  the  first  time  we  have  made  anxious  fathers 
pay  to  win  their  children  back!  Ha-ha!  . Peter, 
my  friend,  comes  to  take  my  watch.  He  will  see 
to  it  that  she  does  not  suffer  for  food.  And  he 
will  keep  her  safe  from  me.  Out  of  my  way!” 

He  brushed  Lolla  aside  roughly,  and  strode  off 
down  the  trail  that  Bessie  had  followed.  For  a 
moment,  while  she  could  hear  the  sound  of  his 
retreating  footsteps,  Lolla  did  not  move.  But  then 
she  raised  herself,  a smile  in  her  eyes,  and  beck- 
oned to  Bessie. 

“Go  up  that  path,  quickly,”  she  whispered. 
“Somewhere  up  there,  hidden,  you  will  find  your 


9G 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


frieud.  Comfort  her,  but  do  not  let  her  move. 

If  she  is  tied  up,  leave  her  so.  Tell  her  that  help 
is  near.  I will  free  her.” 

“But  why— why  not  come  with  me,  and  free 
her  now?”  protested  Bessie,  eagerly.  “We  can 
find  her,  for  he  came  down  that  path,  so  he  must 
have  left  her  somewhere  up  there.  Oh,  come, 
Lolla,  you  will  never  regret  it!” 

“Did  you  not  hear  him  say  that  Peter  was  com-  i 
ing?  Peter  is  his  best  friend;  they  are  closer 
together,  and  are  more  to  one  another,  than  • 
brothers.  If  we  tried  to  escape  with  her  now, 
Peter  would  find  us,  and  his  hand  is  heavy.  We 
should  do  your  friend  no  good,  and  be  punished  ' 
ourselves.  We  must  wait.  But  hurry,  before  he  j 
comes.  Tell  her  to  be  happy,  and  not  to  fear.  I | 
will  save  her,  and  you.  We  will  work  together  to 
save  her.” 

And  with  that  Bessie,  much  as  she  would  have 
liked  to  get  Dolly  out  of  the  clutches  of  her  cap- 
tor at  once,  had  to  be  content.  She  realized  fully 
that  in  Lolla  she  had  gained  an  utterly  unexpected  j 
ally,  in  whom  lay  the  best  possible  chance  for  the  ; 
immediate  release  of  her  chum,  and  the  mere  ' 
knowledge  of  where  Dolly  was  hidden  would  be 
extremely  valuable. 

After  all,  it  was  all,  and,  possibly,  more,  than  ^ 
she  had  expected  to  accomplish  when  she  had  ^ 
plunged  into  the  woods  after  the  gypsy  and  his  | 
prisoner,  and  she  felt  that  she  ought  to  be  satis- a 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


97 


fied.  So  slie  liiirried  at  once  up  the  path  that 
Lolla  pointed  out,  leaving  the  gypsy  girl  below  as 
a guard. 

The  path  was  rough  and  steep,  rising  sharply, 
but  Bessie  paid  little  heed  to  its  difficulties,  since 
she  felt  that  it  was  taking  her  to  Dolly.  She  kept 
her  eyes  and  ears  open  for  any  sight  or  sound 
that  might  make  it  easier  to  find  Dolly,  but  she 
did  not  call  out,  since  she  felt  that  it  was  prac- 
tically certain  the  gypsy  had  managed,  in  some 
manner,  to  make  it  impossible  for  poor  Doily  to 
cry  out,  lest,  in  his  absence,  she  alarm  some 
passerby  and  so  obtain  her  freedom. 

Bessie  was  sure  that  Dolly  would  not  be  left 
in  some  place  that  could  be  seen  from  the  path, 
but  she  was  also  sure  that  she  could  not  be  far 
from  it,  since  there  had  not  been  time  for  the 
gypsy  to  make  any  extended  trip  through  the 
woods  off  the  trail.  Bessie  had  traveled  fast 
throu^  the  night,  and  she  was  sure  that  John, 
with  the  weight  of  Dolly  to  carry,  had  not  been 
able  t®  move  as  fast  as  she,  and  could  not,  there- 
fore, have  been  more  than  twenty  minutes  or  half 
un  heiiir  ahead  of  her  in  reaching  the  trail  she 
was  now  following. 

So  she  watched  carefully  for  some  break  in  the 
thick  undergrowth  that  lined  the  trail,  for  some 
opening  through  which  John  might  have  gone 
with  his  burden.  There  might  even,  she  thought, 
be  another  of  those  precious  sign  posts  that,  back 


98  THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 

on  the  other  trail,  had  been  made  by  the  torn 
pieces  from  Dolly’s  skirt. 

But,  careful  as  was  her  search,  she  reached  the 
end  of  the  trail  without  finding  anything  that 
looked  like  a promising  place,  or  seeing  anything 
that  made  her  think  Dolly  was  within  a short  dis- 
tance of  her.  The  trail  led  to  an  exposed  peak,  a 
rugged  outcrop  of  rock,  bare  of  trees,  and  cov- 
ered only  with  a slight  undergrowth. 

Once  there  Bessie  understood  why  the  trail  had 
been  made  through  the  woods.  The  view  was  won- 
derful. Below  her  were  the  waving  tops  of  count- 
less trees,  and  beyond  them  she  could  look  down 
and  over  the  cultivated  valleys,  full  of  farms, 
whose  fields,  marked  off  by  stone  fences,  looked 
small  and  insignificant  from  her  high  perch. 

Bessie,  however,  was  in  no  mood  to  enjoy  a 
view.  She  wasted  no  time  in  admiring  it,  but 
only  peered  over  the  edge  of  the  peak  on  which 
she  stood,  to  satisfy  herself  that  Dolly  was  not 
hidden  just  below  her.  One  look  was  enough  to 
do  that.  There  was  a way,  she  soon  saw,  of  de- 
scending, and  reaching  the  woods  again,  but  no 
man,  carrying  any  sort  of  a burden,  could  have 
accomplished  that  descent. 

It  was  a task  that  called  for  the  use  of  feet  and 
hands  and  Bessie  turned  desperately,  convinced 
that  she  must,  in  some  manner,  have  overlooked 
the  place  at  which  John  had  turned  off  the  main 
trail  with  his  burden. 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


99 


Now,  as  she  went  downward,  she  searched  the 
woods  at  each  side  with  redoubled  care,  and  at 
last  she  found  what  she  had  been  looking  for,  or 
what,  it  seemed  to  her,  must  be  the  place,  since 
she  had  seen  no  other  that  offered  even  a chance 
for  a succssful  passage  through  the  thick  growth 
of  trees  and  underbrush. 

Without  hesitation  she  turned  off  the  trail,  and, 
though  the  going  was  rough,  and  her  hands  and 
face  were  scratched,  while  her  clothes  were  torn, 
she  was  rewarded  at  last  by  finding  that  the 
ground  below  her  grew  smooth,  showing  that 
human  feet  had  passed  that  way  often  enough  to 
wear  the  faintest  sort  of  a path. 

Once  she  became  aware  of  the  path  her  heart 
grew  light,  for  she  was  sure  now  that  she  was 
going  in  the  right  direction  at  last.  And,  indeed, 
it  was  not  more  than  five  minutes  before  she  al- 
most stumbled  over  Dolly  herself,  bound  to  a tree, 
and  with  a handkerchief  stuffed  in  her  mouth  so 
that  she  could  not  cry  out. 

“Oh,  Dolly!  I’m  so  glad,  so  glad!  Listen,  dear; 
I can’t  stay.  You’ll  have  to  be  here  a little  while 
longer,  but  we  will  soon  have  you  back  at  the 
camp,  as  safe  and  well  as  ever.  Are  you  hurt? 
Does  it  give  you  pain?  If  it  doesn’t,  shake  your 
head  sideways.” 

Dolly  managed  to  shake  her  head,  and  in  her 
eyes  Bessie  saw  that  now  that  she  knew  help  was 
near  Dolly’s  courage  would  sustain  her. 


100 


THE  CAMP  PIPE  GIELS 


“That  gypsy  girl  we  saw  is  near,  hut  the  man 
who  carried  you  off  is  going  to  send  another  man 
to  watch, -and  if  I let  you  go  now  we’d  only 
meet  him,  and  be  in  more  trouble  than  ever.  But 
be  brave,  dear;  it  won’t  be  long  now.” 

Poor  Dolly  could  not  answer,  for  Bessie,  re- 
membering that  Lolla  had  seemed  to  fear  the  man 
Peter  more  than  she  did  John,  dared  not  even 
loosen  the  gag.  She  saw,  however,  that  while  it 
must  be  making  Dolly  terribly  uncomfortable,  she 
could  breathe,  and  that  it  was  probably  worse  in 
appearance  than  in  fact.  So  she  leaned  down  and 
kissed  her  chum,  and  whispered  in  her  ear. 

“I’m  going  back  to  Lolla  now,  dear,  but  I’ll 
soon  be  back  with  enough  help  so  that  we  needn’t 
care  how  many  of  the  gypsies  there  are  near  us. 
If  I stay  now  I’m  afraid  they’ll  catch  me,  too, 
and  then  no  one  would  know  where  you  were. 
They  can’t  get  you  away  from  here,  so  you’re 
sure  to  be  safe  soon.” 

DoUy  nodded  to  show  that  she  understood,  and 
Bessie  moved  silently  away.  But,  as  she  turned 
down  the  trail  that  would  take  her  back  to  the 
spot  where  she  had  left  Lolla,  she  had  a new  causa 
for  fright.  She  hoard  Lolla ’s  voice,  raised  loudly, 
arguing  with  a man  who  answered  in  low,  gut- 
tural tones.  "Wiiat  they  were  saying  she  could  not 
distinguish,  hut  somehow  she  understood  that 
Peter  had  come  even  sooner  than  Lolla  had  feared, 
and  the  gjjMj  girl,  at  the  risk  of  angering 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


101 


him,  was  trying  to  warn  her,  so  that  she  might  not 
descend  the  trail  and  so  stumble  right  into  his 
arms. 

So,  although  the  prospect  frightened  her,  she 
turned  and  made  her  way  swiftly  up  to  the  peak 
again,  determined  that  if  the  man  should  go  past 
the  opening  that  led  to  the  place  where  Dolly  lay, 
she  would  risk  the  danger  and  the  difficulty  of  the 
rocky  descent  from  the  peak  itself. 

As  she  hastened  along  silence  fell  behind  her, 
and  she  knew  that  Peter  must  have  started.  He 
was  whistling  a queer  gypsy  tune  and  Bessie  heard 
him  pass  the  partly  masked  opening  that  she  had 
herself  found  with  so  much  difficulty. 

After  that  she  hesitated  no  longer,  but  rushed 
to  the  reeky  top  of  the  peak,  and  in  a moment  she 
was  making  her  way  down,  with  as  much  caution 
as  possible,  swinging  from  one  ledge  to  the  next, 
hanging  on  to  a bush  here,  and  a projecting  piece 
of  rock  there. 

Even  an  expert  climber,  equipped  with  rope  and 
sharp  pointed  stick,  would  have  found  the  descent 
difficult.  And  all  that  enabled  Bessie  to  succeed 
was  her  knowledge  that  she  must. 


CHAPTER  X 


A TEEEIBLK  StTRPKISE 

Bessie,  tiiongli  slie  had  to  pause  more  than  once 
in  her  wild  descent  of  the  rocks,  dared  not  look 
hack  to  see  if  the  gypsy,  Peter,  was  pursuing  her, 
or  even  whether  he  was  looking  down  after  her. 
She  had  two  reasons.  For  one  thing,  the  task 
was  difficult  and  terrifying  enough  as  it  was,  and 
to  know  that  there  was  danger  from  behind,  as 
well  as  the  peril  involved  in  the  descent  itself, 
would,  she  feared,  unnerve  her. 

And,  moreover,  even  if  Peter  saw  her,  he  might 
not,  if  she  paid  no  attention  to  him,  suspect  that 
she  had  anything  to  do  with  Dolly,  or  that  he  and 
his  companion  had  anything  to  dread  from  her. 
Bessie  did  not  know  whether  he  would  recognize 
her  as  having  been  at  the  gypsy  camp  with  Dolly, 
but  she  felt  that  it  would  be  as  well  not  to  take 
the  chance.  Things  were  bad  enough  without  run- 
ning the  risk  of  complicating  them  still  further. 

The  descent  was  a long  and  hard  one,  but  when 
she  was  about  half  way  down  to  the  comparatively 
level  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  peak,  all  real  dan- 
ger of  a crippling  fall  was  over,  since  there  a 
path  began.  Evidently  some  trampers  who  were 
fond  of  climbing  had  worn  it  through  the  rough 
surface  to  a point  where  a good  view  was  to  be 

102 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


103 


had,  and  liad  stopped  there,  content  with  the  dis- 
tance they  had  gone,  and  not  disposed  to  try  the 
further  ascent.  And,  as  soon  as  Bessie  reached 
that  point  she  was  able  to  stop  and  get  her  breath. 

Meanwhile  she  'wondered  what  had  become  of 
Loila.  The  gypsy  girl,  as  Bessie  understood  thor- 
oughly, was  rimning  severe  risks.  If  the  t'wo  men 
knew  that  she  was  in  league  with  Dolly’s  friends 
they  would  certainly  take  some  steps  to  silence 
her.  But  John,  Bessie  felt  sure,  did  not  believe 
that  Loila,  no  matter  how  jealous  she  might  be, 
would  actually  betray  her  own  people  to  the  hated 
Americans.  He  had  smiled  in  a confident  man- 
ner while  Loila  had  made  her  threats,  and  Bessie 
thought  he  regarded  tile  girl  as  a child  in  a tem- 
per, but  sure  to  come  to  her  senses  before  she 
actually  put  him  in  danger. 

What  to  do  next  was  a problem.  Bessie,  when 
she  had  followed  the  rough  path  until  it  led  to 
a trail,  was  completely  lost.  She  knew,  roughly, 
and  in  a general  way,  the  direction  of  Camp  Man- 
asquan,  as  the  camp  at  Long  Lake  was  called,  but 
that  was  about  all. 

“If  I go  straight  ahead  I may  be  going  just  as 
straight  as  I can  aw’ay  from  anyone  who  can  help 
DollyJ’  she  reflected.  “Or  I may  get  over  toward 
Loon  Pond,  and  run  into  that  awful  gypsy,  and 
then  I’d  be  worse  off  than  ever!  Oh,  I do  wish  I 
knew  where  I was,  or  how  I can  find  Loila.  She 


104 


THE  CAMP  FISE  GIRLS 


must  know  these  woods,  and  she’d  he  able  to  help 
me,  I’m  sure.” 

Finally,  however,  Bessie  determined  to  move 
slowly  along  the  trail  in  a direction  that  would, 
she  thought,  take  her  around  the  bottom  of  Deer 
Mountain.  She  remembered  that  just  a little 
while  before  she  had  come  to  the  place  where  she 
had  first  seen  Lolla,  a side  path  had  crossed  the 
trail  on  which  she  had  followed  Dolly  and  her 
captor,  and  it  seemed  likely  to  her  that  that  path 
would  also  cross  the  trail  she  was  now  on. 

If  it  did  she  could  work  back  to  a spot  she 
knew,  and  so  find  her  bearings,  at  least.  Then,  if 
there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done,  she  would  cer- 
tainly be  able  to  get  back  to  Long  Lake.  For  her 
to  stay  in  the  woods,  lost  and  hungry,  would  not 
help  Dolly. 

So  she  set  out  bravely,  walking  as  fast  as  she 
could.  The  sun  wms  high  in  the  heavens  now,  and 
it  was  long  after  breakfast  time,  so  that  Bessie 
was  hungry,  but  she  thought  little  of  that. 

As  she  ha'd  hoped,  and  half  expected,  she  came, 
presently,  and  at  what  seemed  to  her  the  proper 
place,  upon  a trail  that  crossed  the  one  she  was 
following,  and  she  turned  to  the  left  without  hesi- 
tation. She  might,  she  felt,  be  going  in  the  wrong 
direction  altogether,  but  she  could  not  very  well 
be  more  hopelessly  lost  than  she  was  already,  and, 
if  she  had  to  be  out  in  the  woods  without  a clue 
to  the  proper  way  to  turn,  she  felt  that  it  made 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


105 


very  little  difference  whether  she  was  in  one  place 
or  in  another. 

The  new  trail  was  one  evidently  little  nsed,  and 
when  Bessie  had  been  on  it  for  perhaps  ten  min- 
ntes,  and  was  beginning  to  think  that  it  was  time 
she  came  in  sight  of  the  larger  trail  from  Long 
Lake  to  Deer  Mountain,  she  heard  someone  coming 
toward  her,  and,  rounding  a bend,  came  into  sight 
of  Lolla. 

The  gypsy  girl  seemed  overwhelmed  with  joy  at 
the  sight  of  Bessie. 

“Oh,  how  glad  I am!”  she  exclaimed.  “I  was 
afraid  that  Peter  had  caught  and  tied  yon  np 
with  3^onr  friend,  and  that  yon  would  think  I had 
sent  yon  np  there  so  that  he  wonld  trap  yon ! How 
did  yon  escape?” 

“I  climbed  down  the  rocks,”  said  Bessie  simply, 
and  smiled  at  Lolla ’s  gasp  of  astonishment, 

‘^You  climbed  down  the  rocks!”  cried  the 
gypsy.  “However  did  yon  do  that?  There  ain’t 
many  men~not  even  many  of  onr  men— wonld 
try  that,  I can  tell  yon.  I thohght  perhaps  yon 
wonld  try  to  do  that,  and  I was  coming  aronnd 
this  way  to  get  to  the  foot  of  the  rocks  and  see 
if  I eonld  find  ont  what  had  become  of  yon.  ’ ’ 

“Yon  know  where  we  are  and  how  to  get  back, 
then?”  asked  Bessie. 

“Of  eonrse  I do.  I know  all  these  woods.” 
I^olla  langhed.  “I  have  set  traps  for  partridges 
rabbits  here  many  and  many  a time,  bnt  the 


106 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 

guides  never  saw  me.  You  knew  wkere  you  were 
going,  didn’t  you  I If  you’d  kept  on  as  you  were  ■ 
going  when  you  met  me  you  would  have  come  to 
the  main  trail  in  a minute  or  two,  and  then,  if 
you’d  turned  to  the  right,  and  kejDt  straight  on, 
you ’d  have  come  to  Long  Lake,  where  you  started 
from.  ’ ’ 

“I  thought  that  was  what  would  happen,  Lolla, 
but  I wasn’t  quite  sure.” 

“Did  you  hear  me  shouting  when  Peter  came 
along?  I hoped  you  would  understand  and  hide 
yourself  some  way,  so  that  he  wouldn’t  find  you. 
What  I was  most  afraid  of  was  that  you  would  be 
in  the  woods  with  your  friend,  and  that  you 
wouldn’t  hear  us.” 

“Yes,  I heard  you,  and  I knew  what  you  were 
doing,  Lolla;  that  you  meant  to  warn  me  that 
Peter  had  come  sooner  than  you  thought  he  would. 
I was  grateful,  too,  but  I was  afraid  just  to  hide 
myself  and  let  him  go  by,  because  the  woods  were 
so  thick  on  each  side  of  the  trail  that  I was 
afraid  he  would  see  where  I had  broken  through 
and  catch  me.” 

Lolla  nodded  her  head. 

“You  are  wise.  You  would  be  a good  gypsy, 
Bessie.  You  -would  soon  learn  all  the  things  we 
know  ourselves.  Peter  has  very  quick  eyes,  and 
he  is  very  suspicious,  too.  He  saw  you  at  the 
camp,  you  know,  and  he  would  have  guessed  right 


I 


AT  LONG  LAKE  107 

away,  if  he  had  seen  you  there,  that  you  were 
looking  for  Dolly.” 

“That  was  just  what  I was  afraid  of,  Lolla.  He 
would  have  tied  me  up  with  her  if  he  had  found 
me,  wouldn’t  he?” 

“Yes.  He’s  a bad  man,  that  Peter.  I think  if 
John  and  he  were  not  so  friendly  John  would  not 
have  done  this.  He  is  kind,  and  brave,  and  he 
always  tried  to  stop  anyone  who  wanted  to  steal 
children.  He  would  steal  a horse,  or  a deer,  but 
never  a child ; that  was  cowardly,  he  said.” 

“He  didn’t  hurt  you,  did  he,  Lolla?” 

The  gypsy  girl  laughed. 

“Oh,  no.  He  tried  to  hit  me,  but  I got  away 
from  him  too  quickly.  I would  not  let  him  touch 
me.  With  John  it  is  different.  He  is  my  man; 
he  may  beat  me  if  he  likes.  But  not  Peter ; I hate 
him.  If  he  beat  me  I would  put  this  into  him.” 

Bessie,  surprised  by  the  look  of  hate  in  Lolla ’s 
eyes,  drew  back  in  fear  as  Lolla  produced  a long, 
sharp  knife  from  the  folds  of  her  dress,  and 
flourished  it  for  a moment. 

“Oh,  Lolla,  please  put  that  away!”  she  ex- 
claimed. “There’s  no  one  here  to  be  afraid  of.” 

Lolla  laughed. 

“No,  but  I have  it  if  I need  it,”  she  said,  mean- 
ingly. 

“What  are  we  going  to  do  now,  Lolla?  We 
can’t  leave  Dolly  up  there  much  longer.  They’ve 
got  her  tied  up,  and  gagged,  so  that  she  can’t 


108 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


call  out,  and  she’s  terribly  uncomfortable,  though 
I don’t  think  she’s  suffering  much.” 

“We  will  get  her  soon,”  said  Lolla,  confidently. 

‘“You  stay  near  where  she  is,  so  that  they  can’t 
get  her  away,”  said  Bessie,  “and  I’ll  go  and  get 
help.  Then  we  shan’t  have  any  trouble.” 

But  Lolla  frowned  at  the  suggestion. 

“You  would  get  those  guides,  and  they  would 
catch  my  man  and  put  him  in  prison,  oh,  for  years, 
perhaps ! No,  no ; I will  get  her  away,  with  you 
to  help  me.  Leave  that  to  me.  Peter  is  stupid. 
ComQ  with  me  now;  I know  what  we  must  do.” 

“YTiere  are  you  going?  This  isn’t  the  way 
back  to  where  Dolly  is,  ’ ’ protested  Bessie,  as  Lolla 
pressed  on  in  the  direction  from  which  Bessie  had 
come.  “We  can  never  get  up  those  rocks,  Lolla; 
it  was  hard  enough  to  come  down.  ” 

. “We  are  not  going  there,  not  yet,”  said  Lolla. 
“I  must  go  to  the  camp  and  find  out  what  John  is 
doing.  If  he  comes  back  to  watch  her  himself  it 
will  be  harder.  But  if  he  has  to  stay,  and  Peter 
looks  after  her,  then  we  shall  have  no  trouble.  You 
shall  see ; only  trust  me.  I managed  so  that  you 
saw  her,  didn’t  I?  Doesn’t  that  show  you  that  I 
can  do  what  I say?” 

“I  suppose  so,”  sighed  Bessie.  “I  should  think 
you  wouldn’t  care  if  that  man  does  go  to  prison, 
though,  Lolla.  He  isn’t  nice  to  you,  and  you  say 
he’ll  beat  you  when  you’re  married.  American 
men  don’t  beat  their  wives.  If  they  did  they  would 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


109 


be  sent  to  prison.  I sbonld  think  yon’d  give  h.im 
up—” 

Lolla’s  dark  eyes  flamed  for  a moment,  but  then 
sbe  smiled,  as  if  she  had  remembered  that  Bessie^ 
not  being  a gypsy,  could  not  be  expected  to  under- 
stand the  gypsy  ways. 

“He  is  a good  man,”  she  said.  “He  will  always 
see  that  I have  enough  to  eat,  and  pretty  things 
to  wear.  And  if  he  beats  me,  it  will  be  because  I 
have  been  wicked,  and  deserve  to  be  beaten.  'When 
I am  his  wife  he  will  be  like  my  father;  if  I am 
bad  he  will  punish  me.  Is  it  not  so  among  your 
people!” 

Bessie  struggled  with  a laugh  at  the  thought  of 
the  only  married  couple  she  had  ever  knovm  at  ali 
well : Paw  and  Maw  Hoover.  The  idea  that  Paw 
Hoover,  the  mildest  and  most  inoffensive  of  men, 
might  ever  beat  his  wife  would  have  made  any- 
one who  knew  that  couple  laugh. 

Instead  of  turning  when  they  reached  the  trail 
which  Bessie  had  followed  after  her  descent  from 
the  rocks,  Lolla  led  the  way  straight  on. 

“Are  you  sure  you  know  whei'e  you  are  going, 
Lolla!”  asked  Bessie. 

Lolla  smiled  at  her  scornfully. 

“Yes,  but  it  is  not  the  way  you  would  go,”  she 
said.  “The  trail  to  the  camp  will  be  full  of  peo- 
ple. They  will  be  out  all  over  the  camp  partic- 
ularly. We  must  come  to  it  from  another  direc- 
tion. That  is  why  we  are  going  this  way.  ’ ’ 


110 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


It  was  not  long  before  Bessie  was  as  thoroughly 
lost  as  if  she  had  been  in  a maze.  Lolla,  however, 
seemed  to  know  just  Where  she  was  going.  She 
left  one  trail  to  turn  into  another  without  ever 
showing  the  slightest  doubt  of  her  direction,  and, 
at  times,  when  the  v/oods  were  thin,  she  would  take 
short  cuts,  leading  the  way  through  entirely  path- 
less portions  of  the  forest  with  as  much  assurance 
as  if  she  had  been  walking  through  the  streets  of  a 
city  where  she  had  lived  all  her  life.  Even  Bessie, 
used  to  long  walks  around  Hedgeville,  in  which 
■she  had  learned  the  country  thoroughly,  was  sur- 
prised. 

“I  don’t  believe  I’d  ever  get  to  know  these 
woods  as  weU  as  you  do,”  she  said,  admiringly. 
“Why,  you  never  seem  even  to  hesitate.” 

“I’ve  been  here  every  summer  since  I was 
born,”  said  Lolla,  in  a laughing  tone.  “I  ought 
to  know  these  woods  pretty  well,  I think.” 

“I  hope  no  one  sees  us  now,”  said  Bessie,  ner- 
vously. “I  really  do  feel  as  if  it  were  wrong  for 
me  to  keep  away.  Miss  Mercer  must  be  as  anxious 
about  me  as  she  is  about  Dolly.’’ 

“Is  she  the  lady  who  is  with  you  girls'?” 

^‘Yes,  You  see,  she  probably  thinks  that  I was 
carried  off,  as  well  as  Dolly.” 

“She  will  stop  being  anxious  all  the  sooner  for 
not  knowing  where  you  are.  I think  it  will  not 
be  long  now  before  we  get  your  friend  away  from 
that  place  where  she  is  hidden,” 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


111 


“Well,  I certainly  hope  so.  Listen!  I think 
I can  hear  voices  in  front  of  us.  ” 

“I  heard  them  two  or  three  minutes  ago,”  said 
Lolla,  with  a smile.  “Stay  here,  now;  hide  be- 
hind that  clump  of  hushes.  I will  go  ahead  and  see 
what  I can  find.  Even  if  it  is  some  of  your  friends 
they  would  not  suspect  me ; they  would  think  I was 
just  out  for  a walk.  ’ ’ 

So  Bessie  waited  for  perhaps  ten  minutes,  while 
Lolla  crept  forward  alonfe.  But  the  gypsy  was 
back  soon,  smiling. 

“All  is  safe  now,”  she  said.  “Come  quickly, 
though,  so  we  shall  get  behind  them  and  be  able 
to  get  near  the  camp.  There  is  a place  there 
where  you  may  hide  while  I find  out  what  is  going 
on.” 

They  reached  the  spot  Lolla  meant  in  a few 
minutes  more,  and  again  Bessie  had  to  play  the 
inactive  part  and  wait  while  Lolla  went  on  to  gain 
the  information  she  needed.  When  she  came  back 
she  was  smiling  happily. 

“That  John  is  stupid,  though  he  is  so  brave,” 
she  said  to  Bessie.  “He  went  back  there  to  the 
camp,  and  he  is  sitting  in  front  of  his  wagon. 
There  is  a guide  with  a gun  sitting  near  him,  and 
my  sister  tells  me  that  the  guide  says  he  will  fol- 
low him  and  shoot  him  if  he  tries  to  get  away. 

“There  are  many  people  there,  and  the  whole 
camp  is  angry  and  frightened.  The  king  says  he 
will  punish  John,  but  John  will  not  admit  that  he 


112 


THE  CAMP  PIPE  GIELS 


knows  where  ypnr  friend  is.  We  are  safe  from 
him.  They  will  not  let  him  get  away  for  a long 
time.  ’ ’ 

Bessie  was  comforted  by  the  news.  With  her 
captor  under  guard,  Dolly  had  nothing  to  fear 
from  him,  and,  though  Peter  might  be  a sullen  and 
a dangerous  man,  Bessie  felt  that  Lolla  was  right, 
and  that  he  was  too  thick  witted  to  be  greatly 
feared. 

They  made  the  return  trip  with  hearts  far 
lighter  than  they  had  been  as  they  made  their  way 
to  the  gypsy  camp.  Bessie  had  seen  that  Lolla 
was  afraid  of  John,  though  now  that  he  had  been 
over-reached  she  was  ready  enough  to  laugh  at 
him. 

‘ ‘ What  are  you  going  to  do  1 How  are  you  go- 
ing to  get  her  away,  Lolla  f ’ ’ asked  Bessie,  as  they 
neared  the  point  where  she  had  first  seen  her  ally. 

“I  don’t  know  yet,”  said  Lolla,  frankly.  “If 
Peter  is  on  the  trail  it  will  be  harder.  I hope  he 
will  be  inside,  so  that  we  can  slip  by  without  his 
seeing  us.  If  he  is,  and  we  get  by,  then  you  are 
to  wait  until  you  hear  me  sing.  So.  ’ ’ 

She  sang  a bar  or  two  of  a gypsy  melody,  and 
repeated  it  until  Bessie,  too,  could  hum  it,  to  prove 
that  she  had  it  right,  and  would  not  fail  to  recog- 
nize it. 

‘ When  you  hear  me  sing  that,  remember  that 
you  must  run  down  and,  go  to  your  friend.  Here 
i?  toy  knife.  Use  it  to  cut  the  cords  that  tie  her. 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


113 


Then  yon  and  slie  must  go  back  toward  the  rocks 
where  you  went  down.  And  when  you  hear  me 
sing  again  you  are  to  go  down,  as  quickly  as  you 
can,  but  quietly,  and,  as  soon  as  you  are  past  the 
place  where  she  was  hidden,  you  must  start  run- 
ning. I will  try  to  catch  up  with  you  and  go  wdth 
you,  but  do  not  wait  for  me.  ” 

“I  don’t  quite  understand,”  Bessie  began. 

But  now  Lolla  was  the  general,  brooking  no  de- 
fiance. She  stamped  her  foot. 

“It  does  not  matter  whether  you  understand  or 
not,”  she  said  sharply.  “If  you  want  me  to  save 
your  friend  and  get  back  to  the  others  you  must 
do  as  you  are  told,  and  quicldy.  Now,  come.” 

They  went  on  up  the  trail,  and,  at  a bend  just 
below  the  spot  where  she  had  broken  through  to 
reach  Dolly  before,  Bessie  waited  while  Lolla, 
who  had  recognized  the  place  from  Bessie’s  de- 
scription of  it,  crept  forward  to  make  sure  that 
the  way  was  clear. 

“All  ^•ight,”  she  whispered.  “Come  on.” 

Silently,  but  as  swiftly  as  they  could,  they  crept 
past  the  place,  and,  w'hen  they  were  out  of  sight, 
stopped. 

“Now,  you  will  know  my  song  when  you  hear 
it?” 

“Yes,  indeed,  Lolla.  Why,  what  have  you  got 
there?” 

“What  I need  to  make  Peter  come  with  me,” 
laughed  Lolla.  “See,  a fine  meal,  is  it  not?  I 


114  THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 

got  it  at  the  camp.  Let  him  smell  that  stew  and  he 
would  follow  me  out  of  the  woods.” 

Bessie  began  to  understand  Lotla’s  plan  at  last. 
She  was  going  to  tempt  Peter  to  betray  his  orders 
from  his  friend  by  appealing  to  his  stomach.  And 
Bessie  wondered  again,  as  she  had  many  times 
since  she  had  met  Lolla,  at  the  cunning  of  the 
gypsy  girl. 

Her  confidence  in  Lolla  was  complete  by  now, 
and  she  did  not  at  all  mind  waiting  as  she  saw 
the  little  brightly  clad  figure  disappear  amidst 
the  green  of  the  trail. 

It  was  some  time,  however,  before  she  heard 
any  signs  that  indicated  that  Lolla  had  obtained 
any  results.  And  then  it  was  not  the  song  she 
heard,  but  Lolla ’s  clear  laugh,  rising  above  the 
heavy  tones  of  Peter. 

“Oh,  oh!  You  would  give  me  orders  when  I 
bring  your  breakfast?  No,  no,  Peter;  that  won’t 
do.  Come,  she  is  safe  there ; come  and  eat  with 
me,  where  she  cannot  put  a spell  on  your  food  to 
make  it  choke  you.” 

“Do  you  think  she  would  do  that?” 

That  was  Peter’s  voice,  stupid  and  filled  with 
doubt.  Bessie  laughed  at  Lolla’s  cleverness. 
Peter,  she  thought,  would  be  just  the  sort  of  man 
to  yield  to  the  fears  of  superstition. 

“I  know  she  would;  she  hates  us.  Come,  Peter; 
does  it  not  look  good?” 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


115 


* ‘ G ive  it  to  me.  There,  I ’ll  catch  y or.—  ” 

Then  there  was  a sound  of  scuffling  and  running^ 
but  Bessie,  noticing  that  it  drew  further  and  fur- 
ther away,  laughed.  Lolla  was  a real  strategist. 
She  understood  how  to  handle  the  big  gypsy,  evi- 
dently. And  a moment  later  Bessie,  her  nerves 
quivering,  all  alert  as  she  waited  for  the  signal, 
heard  the  notes  of  Lolla ’s  song.  At  once  she 
rushed  down,  broke  through  the  tangled  growth, 
and  was  at  Dolly ’s  side,  cutting  away  at  the  cords 
that  bound  Dolly,  and,  first  of  all,  tearing  the 
handkerchief  from  her  mouth. 

“It’s  all  right  now,  we’re  safe,  Dolly.  Only 
you’ll  have  to  come  quickly,  dear,  when  I get  yon 
free.  There,  that’s  it.  Are  you  stiff?  Can  yon 
stand  up?” 

“I  guess  so,”  gasped  Dolly.  “Oh,  I’d  do  any- 
thing to  get  away  from  here.  Bessie,  look!” 

Bessie  turned,  to  face  Peter  and  Lolla,  their 
faces  twisted  into  malignant  grins.  Lolla  had  be- 
trayed her!  ' 


CHAPTEE  XI 


THE  MYSTEKIOtrS  VOICE 

For  a moment  Bessie  stared  at  the  two  gypsies, 
their  eyes  glowing  with  malicious  triumph  and  de- 
light at  her  shocked  face,  in  such  dazed  astonish- 
ment that  'she  could  not  speak  at  all.  She  had 
been  completely  outwitted  and  hoodwinked.  She 
had  trusted  Loila  utterly ; had  made  up  her  mind 
that  the  girl’s  jealousy  was  not  feigned. 

Even  now,  for  a wild  moment,  the  thought 
flashed  through  her  mind  that  perhaps  Lolla  had 
been  unable  to  help  herself ; that  Peter  might  have 
insisted  on  ceming  back,  and  that  Lolla  was  forced, 
in  order  to  be  of  help  later  on,  to  seem  to  fall  in 
with  his  plans. 

But  Lolla  herself  soon  robbed  her  of  the  com- 
fort that  lay  in  such  a thought. 

‘‘You  thought  I would  betray  my  people!”  she 
oried,  shrilly.  “We  do  not  do  that;  no,  no.  Ah, 
but  it  was  easy  to  deceive  you ! When  I saw  you 
I knew  you  would  be  dangerous.  I could  not  hold 
you  by  force  until  John  came,  I had  to  trick  you. 
I thought  we  would  catch  you  when  you  went  up 
there.  I did  not  think  you  would  be  brave  enough 
to  go  down  the  rocks.” 

Bessie  said  not  a word,  but  only  clung  to  Dolly’s 
hand  and  stared  at  the  treacherous  gypsy. 

116 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


117 


“So  then,  when  you  had  gone,  I had  to  find  you 
again,  and  send  word  to  Peter  to  do  as  I said,  so 
that  we  could  catch  you,  and  stop  you  from  going 
to  your  friends  and  telling  them  where  we  had 
hidden  your  friend  who  is  there  with  you  now. 
Now  we  have  two,  instead  of  one.  Oh,  I have 
done  well,  have  I not,  Peter?” 

Peter  grinned,  and  grunted  something  in  his 
own  tongue  that  made  Lolla  smile. 

“Tie  them  up  again,  Peter,”  said  Lolla,  look- 
ing viciously  at  Bessie,  and  obviously  gloating 
over  the  way  in  which  she  had  tricked  the  Amer- 
ican girl.  And  Peter,  nothing  loath,  advanced  to 
do  so.  But  Bessie  had  stood  all  she  could. 

Dolly,  terribly  cast  down  by  this  sudden  upset- 
ting of  all  the  hopes  of  rescue  that  the  coming  of 
Bessie  and  her  release  from  the  cords  that  bound 
her  had  raised,  was  close  beside  her,  shivering 
with  fright  and  despair. 

And  Bessie,  with  a sudden  cry  of  anger,  seized 
the  knife  Lolla  had  given  her,  which  had  been 
lying  at  her  feet.  Furiously  she  brandished  it. 

“If  either  of  you  come  a step  nearer  I’ll  use 
it!”  she  said,  scarcely  able  to  recognize  her  own 
voice,  so  changed  was  it  by  the  anger  that  Lolla ’s 
treachery  had  aroused  in  her.  “You’d  better  not 
think  I’m  joking.  I mean  it!” 

Peter  hesitated,  but  Lolla,  her  eyes  flashing, 
urged  him  on. 

“Go  on!  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  all  the  women 


118 


THE  CAMP  PIPE  GIELS 


that  you  were  frightened  by  a little  girl ; a girl  I 
you  could  crush  with  one  hand?”  she  cried,  I 
angrily.  “You  coward!  Tie  them  up,  I tell  you!  I 
Oh,  if  my  man  John  were  here  he’d  show  you  1 1 
Here-”  1 

Peter,  stung  by  her  taunts,  made  a quick  rush  | 
forward.  For  a moment  Bessie  did  not  know  I 
what  to  do.  She  wondered  if,  when  it  came  to  the  ; 
test,  slie  would  really  be  able  to  use  the  knife ; to  ^ 
try  to  cut  or  stab  this  man.  He  was  getting  nearer  > 
each  moment,  and,  just  as  she  was  almost  within 
his  grasp  she  darted  back  and  aimed  a blow  at 
him  with  the  knife. 

There  was  no  danger  that  it  would  strike  him; 
Bessie  thought  that,  if  she  could  only  convince  i 
him  that  she  had  meant  what  she  said,  he  would  ' 
hesitate.  And  she  was  right.  He  gave  a cry  of  * 
alarm  as  he  saw  the  steel  flash  toward  him  and 
drew  back. 

“She  would  stab  me!”  he  exclaimed,  furiously, 
to  Lolla.  “I  was  not  to  be  struck  with  a knife. 
John  said  nothing  about  that.  He  told  me  only 
to  guard  this  girl—” 

“She  wouldn’t  really  touch  you  with  it,” 
screamed  Lolla,  so  furious  that  she  forgot  the 
need  of  keeping  her  voice  low.  “John  wouldn’t 
let  her  frighten  him  that  way,  he  is  too  brave. 
Oh,  how  the  women  will  laugh  when  they  hear 
how  the  brave  Peter  was  frightened  by  a girl  with 
a little  knife!” 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


119 


But  Bessie,  in  spite  of  her  own  indecision,  had 
managed,  somehow,  to  convince  the  man  that  she 
was  serious,  and  Lolla’s  taunts  no  longer  affected 
him.  He  drew  back  still  further,  and  stood  look- 
ing stupidly  at  the  two  girls. 

“You’re  wiser  than  she,”  said  Bessie,  approv- 
ingly. “I  meant  just  what  I said.  Keep  as  far 
as  that  from  me,  and  you’ll  be  safe.  I’m  not 
afraid  of  you  any  more.” 

Nor  was  she.  Her  victory,  brief  though  it  might 
be,  had  encouraged  her,  and  revived  her  droop- 
ing spirits.  Dolly,  too,  seemed  to  have  gained  new 
life  from  the  sight  of  the  big  gypsy  quailing  be- 
fore her  chum.  She  had  stopped  trembling,  and 
stood  up  bravely  now,  ready  to  face  whatever 
might  come. 

“Good  for  you,  Bessie!”  she  exclaimed.  She 
darted  a vicious  look  at  Lolla.  “I  wish  that 
treacherous  little  gypsy  would  come  somewhere 
near  me,”  she  went  on,  angrily.  “I’d  pull  her 
hair  and  make  her  sorry  she  ever  tried  to  help 
those  villians  to  keep  us.  When  they  put  her  in 
prison  I’m  going  to  see  her,  and  jeer  at  her!” 

Lolla,  looking  helpless  now  in  her  anger,  said 
nothing,  but  she  glared  at  the  two  girls. 

“I  think  these  people  are  very  superstitious,” 
whispered  Dolly  to  Bessie,  when  it  became  plain 
that,  for  the  moment,  the  two  gypsies  intended 
only  to  watch  them,  without  making  any  further 
attempt  to  tie  them  up. 


120 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


‘H  think  so  too,”  returned  Bessie,  in  the  same 
tone.  “But  I don’t  see  what  good  that  is  going 
to  do  us,  Dolly.” 

“Neither  do  I,  just  yet,  Bessie.  But  I can’t 
help  thinking  that  there  must  be  some  way  that  we 
could  frighten  them,  if  we  could  only  think  of  it; 
so  that  they  would  be  frightened  and  run  away.” 

“We  might  tell  them—  Oh,  I’ve  got  an  idea, 
Dolly.” 

She  looked  at  Peter  and  Lolla.  They  were  at 
the  very  edge  of  the  little  clearing  in  which  Dolly 
had  been  imprisoned. 

“Listen,  Lolla,”  said  Bessie,  calmly.  “I  be- 
lieve that  you  are  a good  girl,  though  you  have 
lied  to  me,  and  tried  to  make  me  think  you  were 
my  friend,  when  all  the  time  you  were  planning 
how  you  could  betray  me.  This  place  is  dan- 
gerous. ’ ’ 

Lolla  looked  at  her  scornfully  and  tossed  her 
head. 

“Don’t  think  you  can  frighten  me  with  your 
stories,”  she  said,  with  a laugh.  “It  is  dangerous 
— for  you.  When  my  man  comes  you  will  find 
that  he  is  not  a coward,  like  Peter,  to  be  fright- 
ened with  your  knife.  He  will  take  it  away  from 
you  and  beat  you,  too,  for  trying  to  frighten  Peter 
with  it.  ” 

“Yes,  he  is  brave,  Lolla.  We  saw  that  when  he 
ran  away  from  the  fire  that  he  saw  last  night  near 
the  lake.  ’ ’ 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


121. 


Bes&ie  was  taking  a cliance  when  she  said  that. 
She  did  not  know  whether  Lolla  had  heard  of  the- 
mysterions  flashlight  explosion  or  not,  bnt  she 
thought  it  more  than  probable  that  John  had  told 
her  of  it.  And  she  was  reasonably  sure  that  he 
was  still  wondering  Avhat  had  caused  the  light 
that  had  so  suddenly  blinded  him.  Her  swift  look 
at  Lolla  showed  her  that  her  blow  had  struck  home. 

“He  is  a brave  man,  indeed,  to  keep  on  with 
his  wicked  plan  to  steal  my  friend  after  such  a 
warning,”  Bessie  went  on  sternly.  “But  his 
bravery  will  do  him  no  good.  There  is  a spirit 
looking  after  us.  It  made  the  fire  that  frightened 
him,  and  the  next  time  he  will  not  only  see  the 
fire;  he  will  feel  it,  too.” 

Now  she  looked  not  only  at  Lolla,  who  seemed 
shaken,  but  at  Peter,  who  was  staring  at  her  as 
if  fascinated.  Evidently  he,  too,  had  heard  of  the 
strange  fire.  Bessie  had  reckoned  on  the  prob- 
ability, that  seemed  almost  a certainty,  that  John 
would  not  have  been  able  to  explain,  even  to  him- 
self, the  nature  of  the  flashlight  explosion.  And 
evidently  she  was  right.  Then  she  took  another 
chance,  guessing  at  what  she  thought  John  would 
probably  have  said  to  explain  the  fire. 

“I  know  what  he  told  you,”  she  said,  slowly. 
“He  said  that  the  fire  came  from  a spirit  that 
was  guiding  him,  and  was  trying  to  help  him.  But 
he  only  said  that  because  he  did  not  understand. 
It  meant  just  the  opposite ; that  it  would  be  better 


122 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


for  him  to  go  home,  and  forget  the  wicked  plot 
he  had  thought  of.” 

Peter  seemed  to  be  weakening,  but  Lolla  tossed 
her  head  again. 

“Are  you  a baby?  Do  you  think  that  is  true?” 
she  said  to  him.  “Don’t  you  see  that  she  is  only 
trying  to  frighten  you,  as  she  did  with  the  knife?” 

^‘Indeed  I am  not,”  said  Bessie,  earnestly.  “I 
am  not  angry  with  you,  any  more  than  I am  afraid 
of  you  now.  If  you  stay  here  something  dreadful 
will  happen  to  you  both.  You  would  not  like  to 
go  to  prison,  would  you,  and  stay  there  all  through 
this  summer,  and  the  next  winter,  and  the  sum- 
mer of  next  year,  when  you  might  be  travelling 
the  road  with  your  brothers?” 

“Make  them  keep  quiet,  Peter,”  cried  Lolla, 
furiously.  “She  is  quite  right.  There  is  danger 
here,  but  it  comes  from  her  friends.  She  thinks 
that  if  she  can  fool  us  into  letting  her  talk,  they 
may  pass  by  and  hear  her  voice.” 

“You  keep  quiet,”  said  Peter,  doggedly,  evi- 
dently deciding  that,  this  time,  he  could  safely 
©bey  Lolla ’s  orders,  and  quite  ready  to  do  so. 
“If  you  make  any  more  noise  I will—” 

He  left  the  sentence  uncompleted,  but  a savage 
gesture  showed  what  he  meant.  He  had  a stout 
stick,  and  this  he  now  swung  with  a threatening 
air. 

Bessie  had  hoped  to  work  on  the  superstitious 
nature  of  the  gypsy  man,  and  to  frighten  him,  per- 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


123 


haps,  if  she  had  good  luck,  into  letting  her  go  off 
with  Dolly.  Bnt  Lolla’s  interference  had  put  that 
out  of  the  question.  She  turned  sadly  to  Dolly,  to 
see  her  companion’s  eyes  twinkling. 

“Never  you  mind,  Bessie,”  she  said.  “They’re 
stupid,  anyhow.  And  as  long  as  they  don’t  tie 
us  up  we’re  all  right.  I’d  just  as  soon  be  here  as 
anywhere.  Someone  will  go  along  that  trail  pres- 
ently looking  for  us,  and  when  they  do  we  can 
shout.  They’ll  probably  make  a noise  themselves, 
so  as  to  let  us  know  they  are  near.  And  I’m  not 
frightened  any  more;  really  I’m  not.” 

But  Bessie,  tired  and  disappointed,  was  nearer 
to  giving  in  than  she  had  been  since  the  moment 
when  she  had  awakened  and  found  that  Dolly  was 
missing.  She  felt  that  she  ought  to  have  dis- 
trusted Lolla;  that  she  had  made  a great  mistake 
in  thinking,  even  for  a moment,  that  the  gypsy 
girl  meant  to  betray  her  own  people. 

Then,  suddenly  a strange  thing  happened.  A 
new  voice,  that  belonged  to  none  of  the  four  who 
were  in  the  clearing,  suddenly  broke  the  silence. 
It  seemed  to  come  from  a tree  directly  over  the 
heads  of  Lolla  and  Peter,  and,  as  it  spoke,  they 
stared  upward  with  one  accord,  listening  intently 
to  what  it  said. 

“Will  you  make  me  come  down  and  punish 
you?”  said  the  voice.  It  was  that  of  an  old,  old 
man,  feeble  with  age,  but  still  clear. 

Bessie  stared  too,  as  surprised  as  the  gypsy, 
and  the  voice  went  on: 


124 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


“I  gave  your  companion  a sign  last  night  that 
should  have  warned  him.  I speak  to  you  now,  to 
warn  you  again.  The  next  time  I shall  not  give  a 
warning ; I shall  act,  and  your  punishment  will  he 
swift  and  terrible.  Take  heed ; go,  while  there  is 
time.” 

For  a moment  the  two  gypsies  were  speechless, 
looking  at  one  another  in  wonder,  and  Bessie  was 
not  disposed  to  blame  them.  Her  own  head  was 
in  a whirl. 

“Quick;  it  is  in  that  tree!”  said  Lolla,  easily 
the  braver  of  the  two  of  them.  “Climb  up  there, 
and  see  who  it  is  that  is  trying  to  frighten  us, 
Peter.” 

But  Peter  was  not  prepared  to  do  anything  of 
the  sort.  He  was  trembling,  and  casting  nervous 
glances  behind  him,  as  if  he  were  more  minded  to 
make  a break  and  run  down  the  trail. 

“Climb  yourself ! I shall  stay  here,”  he  retorted. 

And  Lolla,  without  further  hesitation,  sprang 
into  the  branches  of  the  tree  and  began  to  climb. 

As  she  did  so  the  mysterious  voice  sounded 
again. 

“You  cannot  see  me,  yet,”  it  said.  “You  can 
only  hear  me.  See,  my  voice  is  in  your  ears,  but 
you  cannot  see  as  much  as  my  little  finger.  Be- 
ware ; go  before  you  do  see  me.  For  when  you 
do,  you  will  regret  it;  regret  it  as  long  as  you 
live!” 

"When  Lolla,  a moment  later,  reached  firm 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


125 


ground  again,  slie  was  trembling,  and  Bessie  saw 
that  her  courage  was  beginning  to  fail.  She  looked 
about  her  nervously,  as  Peter  was  doing.  And 
sudd.enly  the  voice  spoke  again,  but  this  time  it 
shouted,  and  it  was  in  a stronger,  more  vigorous 
tone,  and  one  of  great  anger. 

‘‘Must  I show  myself?  Must  I punish  you?” 
it  said,  furiously.  “Pear  me;  you  will  do  well! 
Go-GO!” 

With  a yell  of  terror  Peter  turned  suddenly, 
and  ran  through  the  thick  bushes  toward  the  trail, 
crying  out  as  he  went,  and  stumbling. 

‘ ‘ Come ; it  is  the  devil ! I saw  his  horns  and  his 
tail  then,”  he  screamed.  “Come,  Lolla;  this  is 
an  accursed  place.  I told  John  it  was  wrong  to 
try  to  do  this ; that  we  ’would  get  into  trouble.  ’ ’ 
“He  is  wise;  he  is  safe!”  said  the  mysterious 
voice.  “Gro  too,  Lolla;  I am  gro-wing  impatient. 
Go,  if  you  want  to  see  John,  your  lover,  and  the 
brothers  that  you  love,  again.  The  time  is  grow- 
ing short.  I come;  I come;  and  when  I come—” 
And  then  at  last  Lolla ’s  nerves,  too,  gave  way, 
and  she  followed  Peter,  screaming,  as  he  had  done, 
while  she  ran.  Bessie,  as  astonished  and  almost  as 
frightened  as  the  two  gypsies  had  been,  turned 
then  to  see  how  Dolly  was  bearing  this  extra- 
ordinary affair,  to  see  her  chum  rolling  about  on 
the  ground,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

‘ ‘ Oh,  that  was  funny ! ’ ’ Dolly  exclaimed.  ‘ ‘ They 
were  easy,  after  all,  Bessie.” 


126 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


“TheyVe  gone!  It’s  all  right  now,”  said 
Bessie.  “But  who  was  it,  Doily?  "Who  could  it 
have  been?” 

“It  was  me!”  exclaimed  Dolly,  weakly,  between 
gasps  of  laughter,  forgetting  her  grammar  alto- 
gether. “I  learned  that  trick  last  summer.  They 
call  it  ventriloquism.  It  just  means  throwing  your 
voice  out  so  that  it  doesn’t  seem  to  come  from  you 
at  all,  and  changing  it,  so  that  people  won’t  recog- 
nize it.” 

Bessie  stared  at  her,  in  wonder  and  admiration, 

“Why,  DoUy  Eansom!”  she  said.  “However 
do  you  do  it?  I never  heard  of  such  a thing!” 

“I  don’t  know  how  I do  it,”  said  Dolly,  re- 
covering her  breath.  “No  one  who  can  does,  I 
guess.  It’s  just  smnething  you  happen  to  be  able 
to  do.” 

“You  certainly  frightened  them,”  said  Bessie. 
“And  you  saved  us  with  your  trick,  Dolly.  I 
think  they’ve  run  dear  away.  We  can  follow 
them  down  the  trail;  they  won’t  stick  to  it,  and  I 
think  we  can  go  right  back  to  Long  Lake,  now, 
without  being  afraid  any  more.  Come  on,  we’d 
better  start.  I don’t  want  to  stay  here.” 


CHAPTER  Xn. 


OUT  OP  THE  PRYING  PAN 

. “Stay  lioref  I should  say  not!”  exclaimed 
Doiiy,  “I’m  almost  starved— and,  Bessie,  they 
must  be  terribly  worried  about  us,  too.  And  now 
teil  me,  as  we  go  along,  how  you  ever  found  me. 
I don’t  see  how  you  managed  that.” 

So,  as  they  made  their  way  down  the  trail, 
Bessie  told  her  of  all  that  had  happened  since 
her  rude  awakening  at  the  camp  fire,  just  after 
the  gyj:!Sj  had  carried  Dolly  off. 

“Oh,  Bessie,  it  was  perfectly  fine  of  you,  and 
it’s  only  because  of  you  that  we’re  safe  now!  But 
you  oughtn’t  to  have  taken  such  a risk!  Just 
think  of  what  might  have  happened!” 

“That’s  just  it,  Dolly.  I’ve  got  time  to  think 
about  it  now,  but  then  I could  only  think  of  you, 
and  what  was  happening  to  you.  If  I’d  stopped 
to  tiiink  about  the  danger  I’m  afraid  I wouldn’t 
liave  come.” 

“But  you  must  have  known  it  was  dangerous! 
I don’t  know  anyone  else  who  would  have  done 
it  for  me.” 

“Gc,  yes,  they  would,  Dolly.  That’s  one  of  the 
things  we  promise  when  we  join  the  Camp  Fire 
Girls— always  to  help  another  member  of  the 
Camp  Fire  who  is  in  trouble  or  in  danger.” 

127 


128 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


“Yes— but  not  like  that.  It  doesn’t  say  any- 
thing about  going  into  danger  yourself,  you 
know.” 

“Listen,  Dolly.  If  you  saw  me  drowning  in 
the  water,  you’d  jump  in  after  me,  wouldn’t  you  I 
Or  after  any  of  tbe  girls— if  there  wasn’t  time 
lo  get  help?” 

“I  suppose  so— but  that’s  different.  It  just 
means  going  in  quickly,  without  time  to  think  very 
much  about  it.  And  you  had  plenty  of  time  to 
think  while  you  were  tramping  along  that  horrid 
dark  trail  after  me.” 

“Well,  it’s  all  over  now,  Dolly,  and,  after  all, 
you  had  to  save  both  of  us  in  the  end.” 

“That  was  just  a piece  of  luck,  and  a trick, 
Bessie.  It  didn’t  take  any  courage  to  do  that — 
and,  beside,  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  you  I would  never 
have  had  the  chance  to  do  that.  I wonder  why 
Lolla  let  you  have  her  knife  to  cut  those  cords 
about  me?” 

“I  think  she’s  a regular  actress,  Dolly,  and 
that  she  wanted  to  make  me  feel  absolutely  sure 
she  was  on  our  side,  so  that  we  would  both  be 
there  in  that  trap  when  she  and  Peter  came  back.”^ 

“It’s  a good  thing  he  was  such  a coward,  Bes- 
sie.” 

“Oh,  I think  he’d  be  brave  enough  if  he  just 
had  to  fight  with  a man,  so  that  it  was  the  sort 
of  fighting  he  was  used  to.  You  see  it  wasn’t  his 
plan,  and  when  I said  I’d  use  that  knife  he 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


129 


couldn’t  see  why  he  should  run  any  risk  when  all 
the  profit  was  for  the  other  man.” 

“And  when  you  played  that  trick  with  your 
voice  he  was  frightened,  because  he’d  never  heard 
of  anything  of  that  sort,  and  he  didn’t  know  what 
was  coming  next,  I think  that  would  frighten  a 
good  many  people  who  are  really  brave.” 

“Bessie,  why  do  I always  get  into  so  much- 
trouble  ? x\ll  this  happened  just  because  I changed 
those  signs  that  day.” 

“Oh,  I don’t  know  about  that,  Dolly.  It  might 
have  happened  anyhow.  I’ve  got  an  idea  now 
that  they  knew  we  were  around,  and  that  John 
planned  to  kidnap  one  of  us  and  keep  us  until 
someone  paid  him  a lot  of  money  to  let  us  go. 
Something  Lolla  said  made  me  think  that.” 

“Then  he  was  just  playing  a joke  when  he  said 
he  wanted  to  marry  me!” 

“Yes,  I think  so,  because  I don’t  think  he  was 
foolish  enough  to  think  he  could  ever  really  get 
you  to  do  that.  I did  think  so  at  first,  but  if  that 
had  been  so  I’m  quite  sure  that  Lolla  wouldn’t 
have  helped  him.” 

“She’d  have  been  jealous,  you  mean?” 

“Yes,  I’m  quite  sure,  you  see,  that  she  saw  him 
and  talked  to  him  when  we  went  over  to  their 
camp  that  time,  so  that  she  could  take  orders 
from  him  to  Peter.  He  knew  he’d  be  watched, 
so  he  mur'c  have  made  up  his  mind  from  the  first 
that  he  ;ould  have  to  have  help.  ’ ’ 


130 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


“I  wonder  wliat  he  is  doing  now,  Bessie.” 

“I  certainly  hope  he’s  still  over  there  at  the 
camp,  sitting  near  that  guide.  The  guide  said 
he  would  shoot  him  if  he  tried  to  get  away,  you 
know.  ’ ’ 

“My,  hut  I’ll  het  there’s  heen  a lot  of  commo- 
tion over  this.  ” 

“I’m  sure  there  has,  Dolly.  Probably  all  the 
people  at  the  hotel  heard  about  it,  too.  I’ll  bet 
they’ve  got  people  out  all  through  the  woods  look- 
ing for  us.” 

“I  wish  we’d  meet  some  of  them— and  that 
they’d  have  a lot  of  sandwiches  and  things.  Bes- 
sie, I’ve  simply  got  to  sit  down  and  rest.  I want 
to  get  back  to  Miss  Eleanor  and  the  girls,  but  if 
I keep  on  any  longer  I’ll  drop  just  where  we  are. 
I’m  too  tired  to  take  another  step  without  a rest.” 

“I  am,  too,  Dolly.  Here— here’s  a good  place 
to  sit  down  for  a little  while.  We  really  can’t 
be  so  very  far  from  Long  Lake  now.  ’ ’ 

“No,”  said  a voice,  behind  them.  “But  you’re 
so  far  that  you’ll  never  reach  there,  my  dears!” 

And,  turning,  they  saw  John,  the  gypsy,  leering 
at  them.  His  clothes  were  torn,  and  he  was  hot 
and  dirty,  so  that  it  was  plain  that  he  had  had  a 
long  run,  and  a narrow  escape  from  capture.  But 
at  the  sight  of  them  he  smiled,  evilly  and  trium- 
phantly, as  if  that  repaid  him  amply  for  any  hard- 
ships he  had  undergone. 

“Don’t  you  dare  touch  us!”  said  Bessie,  shrilly. 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


i«j>i 

She  realized  even  as  she  said  it,  that  he  was 
not  likely  to  pay  any  attention  to  her,  but  the 
sight  of  his  grinning  face,  when  she  had  been  so 
sure  that  their  troubles  were  over  at  last,  was 
too  much  for  her. 

She  sank  down  on  a log  beside  Dolly,  and  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands,  beginning  to  cry.  Most 
men,  no  matter  how  bad,  would  have  been  moved 
to  pity  by  the  sight  of  her  sufferings.  But  John 
was  not. 

“Don’t  cry,”  he  said,  with  mock  sympathy.  “I 
am  not  going  to  treat  you  badly.  Yon  shall  stay 
in  the  woods  with  me.  I have  a good  hiding 
place— a place  where  your  friends  will  never  find 
you  until  I am  ready.  You  are  tired.  So  am  I. 
We  will  rest  here.  It  is  quite  safe.  A party  of 
your  friends  passed  this  way  five  minutes  ago. 
They  will  not  come  again— not  soon.  I was  with- 
in a few  feet  of  them,  but  they  did  not  see  me.” 

Bessie  groaned  at  the  news.  Had  they  only 
reached  the  place  five  minutes  earlier,  then,  they 
would  have  been  safe.  She  was  struck  by  an  idea, 
however,  and  lifted  her  voice  in  a shout  for  aid. 
In  a moment  the  gypsy’s  hand  covered  her  mouth 
and  he  was  snarling  in  her  ear. 

“None  of  that,”  he  said,  grittingly,  “or  I will 
find  a way  to  make  you  keep  still.  You  must  do 
as  I tell  you  now,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you. 
Will  you  promise  to  keep  quiet?” 

Bessie  realized  that  there  was  no  telling  what 


132  THE  CAMP  FISE  GIELS 

this  man  would  do  if  she  did  not  promise— and 
keep  her  promise.  He  was  cleverer  than  Peter, 
and,  therefore,  much  more  dangerous.  She  felt, 
somehow,  that  the  trick  which  had  worked  so  well 
when  Dolly  had  used  it  before  would  he  of  no 
avail  now.  He  might  even  tmderstand  it;  he  was 
most  unlikely,  she  was  sure,  to  yield  to  supersti- 
tious terror  as  Peter  and  Lolla  had  done.  And, 
leaning  over  to  Dolly,  she  whispered  to  her. 

“Don’t  try  that  trick,  Dolly.  You  see,  if  the 
others  had  dared  the  voice  to  do  something  they 
would  have  found  out  that  there  was  really  noth- 
ing to  be  afraid  of— and  I’m  afraid  he’d  wait. 
It  may  be  useful  again,  but  not  with  him,  now. 
If  we  tried  it,  and  it  didn ’t  work—  ’ ’ 

“I  understand,”  Dolly  whispered  back.  “I 
think  you  are  right,  too,  Bessie.  We’d  be  worse 
off  than  ever.  I was  thinking  that  if  only  some 
of  the  other  gypsies  were  here  we  might  frighten 
them  so  much  with  it  that  they’d  make  him  let 
us  go.” 

“Yes.  We’ll  save  it  for  that.” 

The  gypsy  was  still  breathing  hard.  He  looked 
at  the  two  girls  malignantly,  but  he  saw  that  they 
were  too  tired  to  walk  much  unless  he  let  them 
rest,  and,  purely  out  of  policy,  and  not  at  all 
because  he  was  sorry  for  them,  and  for  the  hard- 
ships he  had  made  them  endure,  he  let  them  sit 
still  for  a while.  But  finally  he  rose. 

“Come,”  he  said.  “You’ve  been  loafing  here 


AT  LONG  lAKE 


133- 


long  snongli.  Get  up  now,  and  walk  in  front  of 
me— back,  tlie  way  you  came.” 

They  groaned  at  tbe  prospect  of  retracing  tbeir 
footsteps  once  more,  but  be  held  tbe  upper  band, 
and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  obedience.  That 
much  was  plain.  Desperately,  as  they  began  to 
drag  their  tired  feet  once  more  along  the  trail, 
they  listened,  hoping  against  hope  for  the  sounds 
that  would  indicate  that  some  of  the  searchers 
they  were  sure  filled  the  woods  were  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

But  no  comforting  shouts  greeted  them.  The 
woods  were  silent,  save  for  the  calls  of  birds  and 
animals,  which,  friendly  though  they  might  be, 
were  powerless  to  aid  the  two  girls  against  this 
traditional  enemy  of  every  furred  and  feathered 
creature  in  the  forest. 

Steadily  they  plodded  on.  Bessie  knew  the 
ground  well  by  this  time,  and,  one  by  one  they 
passed  the  landmarks  she  knew  so  well,  until  they 
came  at  last  to  the  cross  path  which  had  brought 
Bessie  back  to  the  trap  Lolla  had  prepared  for 
her.  And  there  they  came  upon  a startling  inter- 
ruption of  their  journey. 

For  suddenly  Lolla  herself,  who  had  evidently” 
been  hiding  there  when  they  had  passed,  alone,  be- 
fore their  meeting  with  John,  sprang  out  and 
stood  in  front  of  them.  Long  as  she  had  resisted 
her  fear  of  the  supernatural  force  that  had  come 
to  the  aid  of  the  girls,  she  was  plainly  afraid  of 


134 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


it  still,  for  at  sight  of  them  her  cheeks  paled,  and  v, 

she  cried  out  in  terror.  And  behind  her,  as  scared  i 

■ \ 

as  she  was  herself,  came  Peter,  the  big  gypsy, 
shaking  in  every  limb.  | 

‘‘A  fine  mess  you  made  of  things— letting  them  | 
escape,”  growled  John,  as  he  saw  his  two  com-  ? 
patriots.  “If  I hadn’t  found  them  on  the  trail,  t 
by  sheer  luck,  they’d  have  been  back  at  the  lake 
by  this  time.”  ■ 

“Let  them  go— for  heaven’s  sake,  let  them  go,,  i 
John,”  wailed  Lolla.  “There  is  a devil  fighting  ^ 
for  them— he  will  kill  you  if  you  try  any  longer 
to  keep  them  from  their  friends.” 

“Pah!  What  child’s  talk  is. this!  Be  thankful 
that  I do  not  beat  you  with  my  stick  for  letting 
them  get  free!” 

“Listen  to  her,  John,”  said  Peter,  warningly. 
“She  speaks  the  truth.  It  was  a devil  that  spoke 
from  the  air.  I saw  his  horns  and  his  red  tail. 
Be  careful— he  may  be  here  now.” 

John  laughed,  scornfully. 

“Run  away,  if  you  are  afraid,”  he  said.  “I 
will  manage  alone  now.  I would  not  trust  you — 
you  have  failed  me  once,  both  of  you.  Do  not 
think  you  can  frighten  me  into  failure  because 
you  are  as  brave  as  a— chicken!” 

“Let  them  go,  I say,”  said  Peter,  wuth  a stern- 
ness in  his  voice  that  gave  Bessie  a new  ray  of 
hope.  “I  have  had  my  warning,  I will  profit  by  it.”- 
“You  coward!”  sneered  John. 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


135 


But  that  was  too  much  for  Peter.  With  a cry; 
of  rage  he  sprang  forward. 

“I  fear  no  man,  no  man  I can  see  or  touch,”  he 
cried.  “And  no  man  shall  call  me  coward!” 

In  a moment  the  two  were  grappling  in  a furious 
fight.  John  was  smaller  than  Peter,  but  he  was 
wiry  and  as  lithe  and  powerful  as  a trained  athlete, 
so  that  he  was  a match,  at  first,  for  the  rugged 
strength  of  Peter.  But  he  had  had  a hard  day, 
and  gradually  Peter’s  strength  wore  him  down, 
and,  as  they  crashed  to  the  ground  together,  Peter 
was  on  top,  and  plainly  destined  to  be  victor  in 
the  fight.  He  looked  up  at  the  two  girls. 

“Go!”  he  said.  “I  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  you.  I am  fighting  with  my  friend  to  save 
him,  not  for  your  sakes,  you  who  have  a devil  to 
hek:  you.  If  he  keeps  you  harm  will  come  to  him. 
cCin,  listen  to  me:  I do  this  because  you  are  my 
friend.” 

Bessie  and  Doily  needed  no  second  invitation. 
Amazing  as  was  this  latest  intervention  in  their 
favor,  they  were  too  happy  to  stop  to  question 
it.  It  was  their  chance  to  escape,  and  five  min- 
utes later  they  were,  out  of  sight,  and  making 
their  way,  as  fast  as  their  tired  bodies  would  allow 
them  to  do,  toward  Long  Lake  and  safety. 


CHAPTEE  Xm 


SAFE  AT  LAST 

Indeed,  any  lingering  fear  Bessie  and  Dolly 
might  have  had  that  John  had  succeeded  in 
escaping  from  his  two  anxious  friends  who  were 
so  determined  to  protect  him  against  his  own  reck- 
lessness, was  dissipated  before  they  came  in  sight 
of  the  lake,  when,  at  a crossing  of  the  trail,  a glad 
cry  hailed  them  and  a sturdy  guide  stepped  across 
their  path. 

“Well,  I’ll  be  hornswoggled ! ” he  exclaimed. 
“Ain’t  you  the  two  that  was  lost,  or  stolen  by 
that  gypsy  critter?” 

“We  certainly  are,”  said  Dolly  and  Bessie,  in 
one  breath.  “Were  you  looking  for  us?” 

‘ ‘ Lookin  ’ f er  you ! ” he  exclaimed.  ‘ ‘ Every  one 
in  these  here  woods  has  been  a-lookin’  fer  you 
two  since  sun-up,  I guess.  Godfrey,  but  we  was 
scared!  Didn’t  know  but  that  there  gypsy  might 
have  snaked  you  clean  out  of  the  woods!  How 
did  you  all  ever  come  to  get  loose?  Or  was  you 
just  plain  lost?” 

“No,  we  weren’t  lost,”  said  Bessie.  “He  car- 
ried Dolly  off  all  right ; this  is  Dolly  Kansom,  you 
know.  But  he  didn’t  catch  me.” 

“Then  how  in  tarnation  did  you  come  to  be 
lost,  too?  You  was,  wasn’t  you?  They  told  us 
two  girls  was  missin’.” 


136 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


137 


“Well,  we  were  asleep  in  the  open  air,  outside 
the  tent,  and  I woke  np  jnst  as  he  was  carrying 
Dolly  off.  I didn’t  wake  up  until  he’d  got  out  of 
the  firelight,  and  there  wasn’t  any  use  calling  any- 
one else.  So  I just  followed  myself.  ’ ’ 

“She  says  anyone  would  have  done  it,”  Dolly 
broke  in,  her  eyes  shining.  “But  I don’t  believe 
it,  do  youl” 

“No,  by  Godfrey!”  he  said,  emphatically.  “A 
greenhorn,  goin’  out  in  them  woods  at  night,  in 
the  dark,  and  a girl,  at  that!  I guess  not!” 

He  looked  at  Bessie,  as  if  puzzled  to  learn  that 
she  had  actually  done  such  a thing. 

“Well,  you’re  all  right  now,”  he  said.  “Here, 
I’ll  just  give  the  signal  we  fi:sed  up.  Listjen, 
now!” 

He  raised  his  rifle,  and,  pointing  it  straight  in 
the  air,  fired  two  shots,  and  then,  after  a brief 
interval,  two  more. 

“The  sound  of  that’ll  carry  a long  way,”  ho 
explained,  “and  that  means  that  you’re  both 
found.  The  other  fellows  who  are  searchin’  for 
you  will  quit  lookin’,  now,  and  come  into  Long 
Lake.  If  I’d  fired  just  two  shots,  and  hadn’t 
fired  the  second  two,  that  would  have  meant  that 
one  of  you  was  found,  and  they’d  have  kept  right 
on  a-lookin’  fer  the  other.  I’ll  walk  along  with 
you  now,  an’  I guess  that  varmint  won’t  bother 
you  no  more.  If  he  does — ” 


138 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


He  patted  his  rifle  with  a gesture  that  spoke 
more  plainly  than  words  could  have  done. 

“Tell  me  all  about  it  as  we  go  along,”  he  said. 
“I  guess  maybe  there’ll  be  some  work  for  us  to 
do  after  we  all  get  together— runnin’  those  gypsies 
out.  They’re  a bad  lot,  but  this  is  the  fust  time 
they  ever  done  anythin’  around  here  that  give  ns 
a real  chance  to  get  even  with  them.  We’ve  sus- 
pected them  of  doin’  lots  of  things,  but  a deer 
can’t  tell  you  who  killed  him  out  o’  season, 
’specially  when  all  you  find  of  the  deer  is  a little 
skin  and  bones.” 

He  listened  admiringly  as  Bessie  told  her  story. 
At  the  tale  of  Lolla’s  treachery  he  laughed. 

“They’re  all  tarred  with  the  same  brush,”  he 
said.  “One’s  as  bad  as  another.” 

And  when  he  heard  of  the  trick  by  which  Dolly 
had  worked  on  the  superstitious  fears  of  Lolla 
and  Peter  his  merriment  knew  no  bounds,  and  he 
absolutely  refused  to  keep  on  the  trail  until  Dplly 
had  given  him  a demonstration  of  just  how  she 
had  managed  it. 

“Well,  by  Godfrey!”  he  said,  when  she  had 
thrown  her  voice  far  overhead,  and  once  so  that 
it  seemed  to  come  from  just  above  his  shomcicr. 
“Don’t  that  beat  the  Dutch!  I don’t  wonder  you 
skeered  ’em!  You’d  have  had  me  gpin’,  I guess, 
an’  I ain’t  no  chicken,  nor  easy  to  skeer,  neither. 
You  cwo  certainly  done  a smart  job  gettin’  away 
from  them.” 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


139 


And,  so  when  they  reached  Long  Lake,  the  girls 
and  the  guides,  who  had  scattered  all  over  the 
woods  searching  for  them,  agreed,  when  they 
straggled  in,  one  party  after  another.  Eleanor 
Mercer  was  one  of  the  first  to  return,  and  when 
she  had  finished  proving  her  gratitude  for  their 
safe  return,  she  turned  a laughing  face  toward  thfe 
chief  guide. 

“Do  you  know  the  thing  that  pleases  me  best 
about  this,  Andrew?’'  she  asked  him. 

“I  can  guess,  ma’am,”  he  said,  with  a grin. 
“You  told  us  when  you  come  up  here  that  you 
was  goin’  to  prove  that  a party  of  girls  could 
get  along  without  help  from  men.  And  I reckon 
it  looked  to  you  this  morning  as  if  you  was  goin’ 
to  need  us  pretty  bad,  didn’t  it?” 

“It  certainly  did,  Andrew,”  she  answered, 
gravely.  “And  I don’t  want  you  to  think  for  a 
moment  that  we’re  not  grateful  to  you  for  the 
way  you  turned  out  and  scoured  the  woods.  ’ ’ 

“Don’t  talk  of  gratitude,  Miss  Eleanor.  We’ve 
known  you  for  years,  but  even  if  we’d  never  seen 
you  before,  and  didn’t  know  nothin’  about  the 
girls  that  thief  had  stolen,  we’d  ha’  turned  out 
jest  the  same  way  to  rescue  them.  An’  I guess 
any  white  men  anywhere  would  ha’  done  the  same 
thing. 

“But  if  it  was  only  us  you’d  had  to  depend  on, 
I’m  afraid  the  young  lady’d  still  be  out  there.  It 
was  her  friend  that  saved  her.  Too  bad  she 


140 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


trusted  tliat  Lolla  witch.  If  she’d  gone  to  Jim 
Shelly  when  she  was  near  the  gypsy  camp  that 
time,  an’  told  him  where  her  chum  was,  he’d  have 
had  her  free  in  two  shakes  of  a lamb’s  tail.” 

think  Dolly  and  Bessie  must  be  awfully 
hungry,”  said  Zara,  who  had  listened  with  shining 
eyes  to  the  tale  of  her  friends’  adventures. 

“Oh,  they  must,  indeed!”  said  Eleanor,  re- 
morsefully. “And  here  we’ve  been  listening  to 
them,  and  letting  them  talk  while  they  were  starv- 
ing. ’ ’ 

She  turned  toward  the  fire,  but  already  two  of 
the  guides  had  leaped  forward,  and  in  a moment 
the  smell  of  crisp  bacon  filled  the  air,  and  coffee 
was  being  made. 

“Oh,  how  good  that  smells!”  said  Dolly.  “I 
am  hungry,  but  it  was  so  exciting,  remembering 
everything  that  happened,  that  I forgot  all  about 
it!  Isn’t  it  funny?  I was  dreadfully  scared  when 
I was  alone  there,  and  again  afterward,  when  we 
thought  we  were  safe,  and  that  horrid  man  caught 
us. 

“But  now  that  it’s  all  over,  it  seems  like  good 
fun.  If  one  only  knew  that  everything  was  com- 
ing out  all  right  when  things  like  that  happen, 
one  could  enjoy  them  while  they  v/ere  going  on, 
couldn’t  one?  But  when  one  is  frightened  half  to 
death  there  isn’t  much  chance  to  think  of  how 
nice  it’s  going  to  be  when  it’s  all  over,  and  you’re 
safe  at  home  again.” 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


141 


“That’s  jnst  the  trouble  with  adventures, 
Dolly,”  said  Eleanor.  “You  never  can  be  sure 
that  they  will  come  out  all  right,  and  lots  of  times 
they  don’t.  It’s  like  the  thrilling  story  that  the 
man  told  about  being  chased  by  the  bear.” 

“What  was  that.  Miss  Eleanor?” 

“Well,  he  told  about  how  the  bear  chased  him, 
and  he  got  into  a trap,  and  the  bear  was  between 
him  and  the  only  way  of  getting  out,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  was  going  to  be  killed.  Se 
they  asked  him  what  happened;  how  he  got 
away!” 

“And  how  did  he?” 

“He  said  he  didn’t;  that  the  bear  ate  him  up!” 

“Miss  Eleanor,”  said  Andrew,  the  old  chief 
guide,  as  the  two  ^rls  began,  ravenously,  to  eat 
the  tempting  camp  meal  that  the  other  guides  had 
so  quickly  prepared,  “we’ve  got  something  more 
to  do  here.  ’ ’ 

Eleanor  looked  at  him  questioningly. 

“We’ve  got  to  find  that  gypsy,”  he  said,  “and 
see  that  he  spends  the  night  in  jail,  where  he  be- 
longs. If  I’m  not  mistaken,  he’ll  spend  a good 
many  nights  and  days  there,  too,  after  he’s  been 
tried.” 

“I  suppose  he  must  be  caught  and  taken  to  a 
place  where  he  can  be  tried,”  said  Eleanor.  “I 
don’t  like  the  idea  of  revenge,  but—” 

“But  this  ain’t  revenge.  Miss  Eleanor.  If  yon 
was  a-goin’  to  say  that  you  was  quite  right.  It’s 


142 


THE  CAMP.  FIRE  GIRLS 


self  protection,  and  protection  for  yonng  girls 
everywhere.” 

“Yes,  you’re  right,  Andrew.  Well,  what  do 
you  want  me  to  do?  I am  afraid  I wouldn’t  be 
much  good  in  helping  you  to  catch  him.” 

Andrew  laughed  heartily. 

■“I  ain’t  sayin’  that,  ma’am,  but  there’s  men 
enough  of  us  to  catch  him,  all  right.  Maybe  you 
didn’t  notice  it,  but  I sent  out  some  of  the  men 
’most  as  soon  as  they  got  here,  just  so’s  they’d 
be  able  to  fix  things  for  him  to  have  to  stay  where 
we  could  catdi  him.  Trouble  is,  none  of  us  don’t 
know  him  when  we  see  him.  I was  wonderin’—” 

“Oh,  no,  not  now,  Andrew.  I know  what  you 
mean.  You  want  the  girls  to  go  with  you,  so  as 
to  point  him  out,  don’t  you?  But  they’re  so 
tired,  I’m  sure  they  couldn’t  do  any  more  tramp- 
ing to-day.” 

“I  know  they’re  tired,  ma’am,  and  I wasn’t 
aimin’  to  let  them  do  any  more  walkin’.  I’ve  got 
more  sense  than  that.  But  we  could  rig  up  a sort 
of  a swing  chair,  so’s  two  of  the  boys  could  carry 
one  of  them,  easily.  Then  we  could  take  her  over 
there,  and  she  could  tell  us  which  was  him,  and 
never  be  tired  at  all.  She’d  be  jest  as  comfort- 
able, ma’am,  as  if  she  was  a settin’  here  by  the 
lake,  watchin’  the  water.” 

“Well,  I suppose  we  can  manage  it  if  you  do 
it  that  way,  Andrew,  if  you  think  it’s  really  nec- 
essary.” 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


143 


WLen  it  came  to  a clioice,  since  it  was  neces- 
sary for  only  one  of  the  girls  to  go,  Dolly  insisted 
on  being  the  one. 

‘‘Bessie  is  mneh  more  tired  than  I am,”  she 
said,  stoutly.  “I  was  carried  a good  part  of  the 
way  and  she  tramped  all  around  with  that  wretched 
little  liolla,  when  she  thought  Lolla  wanted  to  help 
her  get  me  away.  So  I’m  going,  and  Bessie  shall 
stay  here  and  rest.” 

“Don’t  make  no  difference  to  me,”  said  An- 
drew. “Let  the  other  girls  come  along  with  us, 
if  you  like,  kliss  Eleanor.  And  you  can  stay  be- 
hind here  with  the  one  that  stays  to  rest.  See?” 

And  so  it  was  arranged.  Bessie,  lying  on  a cot 
that  had  been  brought  from  Eleanor’s  tent, 
watched  Dolly  being  carried  off  in  the  litter  that 
had  been  hastily  improvised,  and  Eleanor  sat  be- 
side her. 

“You’ve  certainly  earned  a rest,  Bessie,”  said 
Eleanor,  happily.  It  delighted  her  to  think  that 
Bessie,  whom  she  had  befriended,  should  prove 
herself  so  well  worthy  of  her  confidence.  “I  don’t 
know  what  we’d  have  done  witiiout  you.  I’m 
afraid  that  Dolly  would  still  be  there  in  the  woods 
if  you’d  just  called  us,  as  most  girls  would  have 
done.  ’ ’ 

“I  don’t  quite  understand  one  thing,  even  yet, 
Bessie,”  continued  Eleanor,  frowning.  “You 
know,  at  first,  it  seemed  as  if  the  idea  we  had  wns 
right;  that  this  man  hgd  some  crazy  idea  that  ho 
might  be  able  to  mmke  a gJT^y  of  Dolly. 


144 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


“I’m  beginning  to  think  that  there  was  some 
powerful  reason  back  of  what  he  did ; that  he  ex- 
pected to  make  a great  deal  of  money  out  of  kid- 
napping her.  It  seems,  too,  as  if  he  knew  where 
we  were  going  to  be,  and  who  we  all  were,  more 
than  he  had  had  any  chance  to  find  out.  ’ ’ 

“I  thought  of  ^at,  too,”  said  Bessie.  “If  it 
had  been  Zara  he  tried  to  steal— but  it  was  Dolly. 
And  she  hasn’t  been  mixed  up  at  ail  in  our 
affairs.” 

“I  know,  and  that’s  what  is  so  puzzling,  Bessie. 
Maybe  if  they  catch  him,  though,  he’ll  tell  why 
he  did  it.  I think  those  guides  will  frighten  him. 
They’re  all  perfectly  furious,  and  they’ll  make 
him  sorry  he  ever  tried  to  do  anything  of  the  sort, 
I think—  Why,  Bessie!  What’s  the  matter?” 

“Don’t  turn  around.  Miss  Eleanor.  But  I saw 
a pair  of  eyes,  just  behind  you.  I wonder  if  he 
could  have  sneaked  back  around  and  come  here  ? ’ ’ 
“Oh,  I wish  we’d  had  one  of  the  men  stay.  I 
was  afraid  of  something  like  that,  Bessie.  ’ ’ 

“I’m  going  to  find  out.  Miss  Eleanor.  I’ll  pre- 
tend I don’t  suspect  anything,  and  get  up  to  go 
into  the  tent.  Then,  if  it’s  John,  I think  he’ll  show 
himself.  ’ ’ 

She  rose;  and  in  a moment  their  fears  were  con- 
firmed. John,  his  eyes  triumphant,  stepped  out, 
abandoning  the  concealment  of  the  bushes. 

“'Where  is  the  other?”  he  said.  “The  one 
called  Bessie— Bessie  King?  It’s  not  you  I 
want—  ’ ’ 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


145 


“Hands  up!”  cried  the  voice  of  Andrew,  the 
chief  guide. 

And  the  gypsy,  wheeling  'with  a savage  cry, 
faced  a half  circle  of  grinning  faces.  He  made  one 
wild  dash  to  escape,  but  it  was  useless,  and  in  a 
moment  he  was  on  the  ground,  and  his  hands  were 
tied.  In  the  struggle  a letter  fell  from  his  pocket, 
and  Bessie  picked  it  up.  Suddenly,  as  ^e  was 
looking  at  it  idly,  she  saw  something  that  made  her 
cry  out  in  surprise,  and  the  next  moment  she  and 
Miss  Mercer  were  reading  it'  together. 

“Get  this  girl,  Bessie  King,  and  I will  pay 
you  a thousand  dollars,”  it  read.  “She  is  dark, 
and  goes  around  with  a fair  girl  called  Dolly.  It 
will  be  easy,  and  if  you  once  get  them  to  me  and 
out  of  the  woods,  I will  pay  you  the  mosey,  and 
see  that  you  are  not  in  danger  of  being  arrested. 
I will  back  you  up.” 

“Who  wrote  that  letter?  Turn  over,  quickly!” 
cried  Eleanor. 

“I  know  without  looking,”  said  Bessie.  “Now 
we  can  guess  why  he  was  so  reckless ; why  he  took 
such  chances ! He  thotight  I was  Dolly,  because  of 
that  mistake  about  our  hair!  Yes,  see;  it  is  Mr. 
Holmes  who  sent  him  this  letter!” 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE  gypsy's  motive 

But,  despite  tlie  revelation  of  that  letter,  the 
gypsy  himself  maintained  a sullen  silence  when 
efforts  were  made  to  make  him  tell  all  he  knew 
and  the  reason  for  his  determined  effort  to  kid- 
nap Dolly.  He  snarled  at  his  captors  when  they 
asked  him  questions,  and  so  enraged  Andrew  and 
the  other  guides  by  his  refusal  to  answer  that  only 
Eleanor’s  intervention  saved  him  from  rough 
handling. 

“No,  I won’t  let  you  use  violence,  Andrew,” 
said  Eleanor,  firmly.  “It  would  do  no  good.  He 
won’t  talk;  that  is  his  nature.  You  have  him  now, 
and  the  law  will  take  him  from  you.  There  isn’t 
any  question  of  his  guilt;  there  will  be  evidence 
enough  to  convict  him  anywhere,  and  he  will  go  to 
prison,  as  he  deserves  to  do.  All  I hope  is  that 
he  won’t  be  the  only  one,  that  we  can  get  the 
man  who  bribed  him  to  do  this,  and  see  that  he 
gets  punished  properly,  too.” 

“I’m  sure  with  you  there,  ma’am,”  said  old 
Andrew.  “He’s  a worthless  critter  enough,  I 
know,  but  he  ain’t  as  bad  as  the  man  that  set  him 
on.  If  the  law  lets  that  other  snake  go,  ma’am, 
jest  you  get  him  to  come  up  here  for  a little  hunt- 
ing, and  we’ll  make  him  sorry  he  ever  went  inttf 

146 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


147 


such  business.  I’d  like  to  get  my  hands  on  him. 
I’m  an  old  man,  but  I reckon  I’m  strong  enough 
to  thrash  any  imitation  of  a man  what  would  play 
such  a cowardly  trick  as  that.  Afraid  to  do  his. 
own  dirty  work,  is  he!  So  he  hires  it  done.  Well, 
much  good  it’s  done  him  this  time.” 

“I’ll  keep  this  letter,”  said  Eleanor.  “I  think 
it  was  mighty  foolish  of  him  to  sign  his  name  to 
it.  ‘It’s  a pretty  good  piece  of  evidence  against 
the  man,  if  he  is  rich  and  powerful.  If  there’s 
any  justice  to  be  had,  I think  he’ll  suffer  this 
time.” 

“How  did  you  ever  get  back  here,  just  when 
you  were  so  badly  needed  1 ’ ’ Bessie  asked  Andrew, 

He  smiled  at  that. 

“Well,  we  get  sort  o’  used  to  readin’  tracks  in 
our  work  around  here.  Miss,  and  we  seen  that 
someone  who  might  be  this  feller  was  doublin’' 
around  mighty  suspicious.  So,  bein’  some  worried 
about  leavin’  you  two  here  alone  anyhow,  I de- 
cided to  come  back  v/ith  three  or  four  of  the  men 
here,  an’  we  did  it,  leavin’  the  others  to  go  on 
an’  see  if  they  could  pick  up  the  other  two 
gypsies. 

“To  tell  the  truth,  I thought  it’d  be  mighty 
strange  if  we  found  him  anywhere  near  that  camp. 
Seemed  like  he  must  know  that  we’d  be  lookin’^ 
fer  him,  and  that  there  was  the  fust  place  we’d 
go  to.  So  here  we  were,  and  mighty  timely,  as 
you  say,  Miss.” 


148 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


It  was  no  great  while  before  the  sounds  of  the 
other  party,  returning,  resounded  through  the 
woods,  and  soon  Lolla  and  Peter,  the  man  bound, 
and  the  girl  carefully  guarded  by  two  guides,  each 
of  whom  held  one  of  her  arms,  were  brought  into 
the  clearing  about  the  camp.  Lolla,  at  the  sight 
of  John,  lying  against  a tree,  his  arms  and  his 
feet  bound,  gave  a cry  of  rage,  and,  snatching  her 
arms  from  her  guardians  ran  toward  him,  wail- 
ing. 

‘ ‘ Go  away,  you  fool ! ’ ’ muttered  J ohn.  ‘ ‘ This 
is  your  doing.  If  you  and  Peter  had  not  been 
afraid  of  your  own  shadow,  this  would  not  have 
happened.  I am  glad  they  have  caught  you;  you 
will  go  to  prison  now,  like  me.” 

“Look  here,  young  feller,”  said  Andrew, 
angrily,  “that  ain’t  no  way  to  talk  to  a lady,  hear 
me?  She  may  be  a bad  one,  but  she’s  stuck  to 
you.  If  you  get  off  any  more  talk  like  that  I’ll 
see  if  a dip  in  the  lake  will  make  you  feel  more 
polite,  like.  See?” 

John  gave  no  answer,  but  relapsed  into  his  sul-^ 
len  silence  again. 

Eleanor  approached  Lolla  gently. 

“We  are  not  angry  with  you,  Lolla,”  she  said, 
kindly.  “No,  nor  with  John.  You  love  him,  do 
you?” 

Lolla  gave  no  answer,  but  looked  up  into 
Eleanor’s  face  with  eyes  that  spoke  plainly 
enough. 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


149 


thought  so.  Then  you  do  not  want  him  to  go 
to  prison.  Try  to  make  him  tell  why  he  did  this. 
If  he  will  do  that,  perhaps  he  can  go  free,  and  you 
and  Peter,  too.  You  wouldn’t  like  to  have  to  leave 
your  people,  and  not  be  able  to  travel  along  the 
road,  and  do  all  the  things  you  are  used  to  doing, 
would  you? 

‘‘Well,  I am  afraid  that  is  what  will  happen  to 
you,  unless  John  will  tell  all  he  knows.  They  will 
take  you  away,  soon  now,  and  you  will  go  down 
to  the  town  and  there  you  will  be  locked  up,  all 
three  of  you,  and  you  and  John  will  not  even  see 
one  another,  for  a long  time— two  or  three  years, 
maybe,  or  even  longer— ” 

Still  Lolla  could  not  speak.  But  she  began  to 
cry,  quietly,  but  with  a display  of  suffering  that 
moved  Eleanor.  After  all,  she  felt,  Lolla  was 
little  more  than  a girl,  and,  though  she  had  done 
wrong,  very  wrong,  she  had  never  had  a proper 
chance  to  learn  how  tg  do  what  was  right. 

“I’m  sorry  for  you,  Lolla,”  said  Eleanor.  “We 
all  are.  We  think  you  didn’t  know  what  you  were 
doing,  and  how  wicked  it  was.  I will  do  my  best 
for  you,  but  your  best  chance  is  to  make  John  tell 
all  he  knows.  ’ ’ 

“How  can  I?  He  blames  me.  He  says  if  I 
and  Peter  hadn’t  been  such  cowards  all  would 
have  been  well.  He  is  angry  at  me ; he  will  not 
forgive  me.” 

' ..“Oh,  yes,  he  will,  Lolla.  I am  sure  he  loves 


150 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


you,  and  that  he  did  this  wicked  thing  because  he 
wanted  to  have  much  money  to  spend  buying  nice 
things  for  you;  pret^  dresses,  and  a fine  wagon, 
with  good  horses.  So  he  will  be  sorry  for  speak- 
ing angrily  to  you,  soon,  and  you  will  be  able  to 
make  him  tell  the  truth,  if  you  only  try.  Will 
you  try?” 

“Yes,”  d,ecided  Lolla,  suddenly.  “I  think  you 
are  good— that  you  forgive  us.  Do  you!” 

“I  certainly  do.  After  ail,  you  see,  Lolla,  you 
haven’t  done  us  any  harm.” 

Lolla  pointed  to  Bessie. 

“Will  she  forgive  me!”  she  inquired.  “I 
tricked  her— made  a fool  of  her— but  she  made  a 
fool  of  me  afterward.  I lied  to  her ; will  she  for- 
give me,  too,  like  you!” 

“Did  you  hear  that,  Bessie!”  asked  Eleanor,  by 
way  of  answer  to  the  gypsy  girl’s  question. 

“Yes,”  said  Bessie.  “I’m  sorry  you  did  it, 
Lolla,  because  I only  wapted  to  help  your  man,  and 
if  you  hadn’t  done  what  you  said  you  were  going 
to  do,  and  helped  me  to  get  Dolly  away  from  him, 
he  wouldn’t  be  in  all  this!> trouble  now. 

‘ ‘ But  you  didn ’t  understand  about  that,  and  you 
helped  your  oWn  people  instead  of  a stranger.  I 
don’t  think  that’s  such  a dreadful  thing  to  do.  It’s 
something  like  a soldier  in  a war.  He  may  think 
his  country  is  wrong,  but  if  there ’s  a battle  he 
has  to  fight  for  it,  just  the  same.” 

“But  remember  that  the  best  way  to  help  John 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


151 


now  is  to  make  him  see  that  he  has  been  wrong, 
and  to  try  to  make  him  understand  that  he  can 
make  np  for  his  wickedness  by  helping  us  to  pun- 
ish the  bad  man  who  got  him  to  do  this,”  said 
Eleanor.  ‘^That  man,  you  see,  was  too  much  of 
a coward,  to  do  liis  work  himself,  so  he  got  youi’ 
man  to  do  it,  knowing  that  if  anyone  was  to  be- 
punished  he  would  escape,  and  John  would  get 
into  trouble. 

“John  doesn’t  owe  anything  to  a man  like  that; 
he  needn’t  think  he’s  got  to  keep  him  out  of 
trouble.  The  man  -wouldn’t  do  it  for  him.  He 
won’t  help  him  now.  He’ll  pretend  he  doesn’t 
know  anything  about  this  at  all.” 

“I  will  try,”  promised  Lolla.  “But  I think 
John  is  angry  with  me,  and  will  not  listen.  But 
I^will  do  my  best.” 

And,  after  a little  while,  which  the  guides  used 
to  cook  a meal,  and  to  rest  after  their  strenuous 
tramping  in  the  effort  to  find  the  missing  girls, 
Andrew  told  off  half  a .dozen  of  them  to  make 
their  way  to  the  county  seat,  a dozen  miles  away, 
with  the  three  gypsies. 

“Just  get  them  there  and  turn  them  over  to  the 
sheriff,  boys,”  said  the  old  guide.  “He’ll  hold 
them  safe  until  they’ve  been  tried,  and  we  won’t 
have  any  call  to  worry  about  them  no  more.  But 
be  careful  while  you’re  on  your  way  down.  , 
They’re  slippery  customers,  and  as  like  as  not  to 
try  to  run  away  from  you  and  get  to  their  own 
people.  ’ ’ 


15^  THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIKLS 

'‘‘You  leave  that  to  me,”  said  the  guide  who 
was  to  be  in  charge  of  the  party.  ‘ ‘ If  they  get 
away  from  us,  Andrew,  they’ll  be  slicker  than  any- 
one I ever  heard  tell  of,  anywhere.  We  won’t  hurt 
them  none,  but  they’ll  walk  a chalk  line,  right  in 
front  of  us,  or  I’ll  know  the  reason  why.” 

“All  right,”  said  Andrew.  “Better  be  getting 
started,  then.  Don’t  want  to  make  it  too  late  when 
you  get  into  town  with  them.  Let  the  girl  rest  once 
in  a w;hile;  she  looks  purty  tired  to  me.” 

Bessie  and  Dolly  and  the  other  girls  watched 
the  little  procession  start  off  on  the  trail,  and 
Bessie,  for  one,  felt  sorry  for  Lolla,  who  looked 
utterly  disconsolate  and  hopeless. 

“We  couldn’t  let  them  go  free,  I suppose,”  said 
Eleanor,  regretfully.  “But  I do  feel  sorry  for 
that  poor  girl.  I don’t  think  she  liked  the  idea 
from  the  very  first,  but  she  couldn’t  help  herself. 
She  had  to  do  what  the  men  told  her.  Women 
don’t  rank  very  high  among  the  gypsies ; they  have 
to  do  what  the  men  tell  them,  and  they’re  ex- 
pected to  do  all  the  work  and  take  all  the  hard 
knocks  beside.” 

“‘You ’re  right;  there’s  nothing  else  to  do, 
ma’am,”  said  old  Andrew.  “Well,  guess  the  rest 
of  us  guides  had  better  be  gettin’  back  to  work. 
Ain’t  nothin’  else  we  can  do  fer  you,  is  there, 
ma’am?” 

“I  don’t  think  so.  I don’t  suppose  we  need  be 
afraid  of  the  other  gypsies,  Andrew?  Are  they 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


15a 


likely  to  try  to  get  revenge  for  what  Las  happened 
to  their  companions?” 

Pshaw!  They’ll  he  as  qniet  as  lambs  for  a 
long  time  now.  They  was  a breakin’  up  camp 
over  there  by  lujoon  Pond  when  the  boys  come 
away  last  time.  Truth  is,  I reckon  they’re  madder 
at  John  and  his  pals  for  gettin’  the  whole  camp 
into  trouble  than  they  are  at  us. 

“You  see,  they  know  they  needn’t  show  their 
noses  around  here  fer  a long  time  now;  not  until 
this  here  shindy’s  had  a chance  to  blow  over  an’’ 
be  forgotten.  And  there  ain’t  many  places  where 
they’ve  been  as  welcome  as  over  to  the  pond.” 

“I  shouldn’t  think  they’d  be  very  popular  here 
in  the  woods.” 

“They  ain’t,  ma’am;  they  ain’t,  fer  a fact. 
More’n  once  we’ve  tried  to  make  the  hotel  folks' 
chase  themmway,  but  they  sort  of  tickled  the  sum> 
mer  boarders  over  there,  and  so  the  hotel  folks 
made  out  as  they  weren’t  as  bad  as  they  were 
painted,  and  was  entitled  to  a chance  to  make  camp 
around  there  as  long  as  they  behaved  themselves.” 

“I  suppose  they  never  stole  any  stuff  from  the 
hotel?” 

“That’s  jest  it.  They  knew  enough  to  keep  out 
the  right  side  of  them  people,  you  see,  an’  they 
did  their  poaehin’  in  our  woods.  Any  time 
they’ve  been  around  it’s  always  meant  more  work 
for  us,  and  hard  work,  too.” 


154 


THE  CAMP,  FIEE  GIELS 


“Well,  I should  think  that  after  this  experience 
the  people  at  the  hotel  would  see  that  the  gypsies 
-aren’t  very  good  neighbors,  after  all.” 

■“That’s  what  we’re  counting  on,  ma’am.  Seems 
to  me,  from  what  I just  happened  to  pick  up,  that 
there  was  some  special  reason,  like,  for  this  var- 
mint to  have  acted  that  way  to-day,  or  last  night, 
maybe  it  was.  Some  feller  in  the  city  as  was  back 
of  him.” 

There  was,  Andrew,  I’m  afraid;  a man  who 
"Ought  to  know  better,  and  whom  you  wouldn’t  sus- 
pect of  allowing  such  a dreadful  thing  to  be 
•done.  ’ ’ 

Andrew  shook  his  head  wisely. 

“It’s  hard  to  know  what  to  wish,”  she  said. 
“Sometimes  a man  is  much  worse  when  he  comes 
out  of  prison  than  he  was  when  he  went  in.  It 
seems  just  to  harden  them,  and  make  it  impossible 
for  them  to  get  started  on  the  right  road  again.” 

“It’s  their  fault  for  going  wrong  in  the  fust 
place,”  said  the  old  guide,  sternly.  “That’s  what 
I say.  I don’t  take  any  stock  in  these  new 
f angled  notions  of  makin’  the  jail  pleasant  for 
them  as  does  wrong.  Make  ’em  know  they’re 
goin’  to  have  a hard  time,  an’  they’ll  be  less 
willin’  to  take  chances  of  goin’  wrong  and  bein’ 
caught  with  the  goods,  like  this  feller  here  to-day. 
I bet  you  when  he  gets  out  of  jail  he’ll  be  so 
scared  of  gettin’  back  that  he’ll  be  pretty  nearly 
«s  good  as  a white  man.” 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


155 

“Of  course,  tlie  main  thing  is  to  frighten  any 
of  the  others  from  acting  the  same  way,”  said 
Eleanor.  “I  think  the  hotel  will  be  sorry  it  let 
those  gypsies  stay  around  there.  Because  it’s 
very  sure  that  mothers  who  have  children  there 
will  be  nervous,  and  they’ll  go  away  to  some  place 
where  they  can  feel  their  children  are  safe. 

“Well,  good-bye,  Andrew.  I’m  glad  you  think 
it’s  safe  now.  I really  would  like  to  feel  that 
we  can  get  along  by  ourselves  here,  but,  of  course, 
I wouldn’t  let  any  pride  stand  in  the  way  of 
safety,  and  if  you  thought  it  was  better  I’d  ask 
you  to  leave  one  of  the  men  here.” 

“No  call  for  that,  ma’am.  You’ve  shown  you 
can  get  along  all  right.  We  didn’t  have  nothin’ 
to  do  with  gettin’  Miss  Dolly  away  from  that 
scamp  to-day.  It  was  her  chum  done  that.  Good- 
bye.” 


CHAPTEE  XV 


A FBIENDLY  CONTEST 

Morning  found  both  Dolly  and  Bessie  refreshed^ 
nd,  though  the  other  girls  asked  them  anxiously 
about  themselves,  neither  seemed  to  feel  any  ill 
effects  after  the  excitement  of  the  previous  dhy, 
with  its  series  of  surprising  events.  Dolly,  at 
first,  was  a little  chastened,  and  seemed  wholly 
ready  to  stay  quietly  in  camp.  And,  indeed,  all 
the  girls  decided  that  it  would  be  better,  for  the 
time  at  least,  not  to  venture  far  into  the  woods. 

“I  think  it’s  as  safe  as  ever  now,  along  the 
well  known  trails  that  are  used  all  the  time,  ’ ’ said 
Miss  Eleanor,  “but,  after  all,  we  don’t  know  much 
about  the  gypsies.  Some  of  them  may  be  hanging 
around  still,  even  if  the  main  party  of  them  has 
moved  on,  and  we  do  know  that  they  are  a re- 
vengeful race;  that  when  one  of  them  is  hurt,  or 
injured  in  any  way,  they  are  very  likely  not  to 
rest  until  the  injury  is  avenged.  They  don’t  care 
much  whether  they  hurt  the  person  who  is  guilty 
or  not;  his  relatives  or  his  friends  will  satisfy 
them  equally  well.” 

“I’m  perfectly  willing  to  stay  right  here  by  the 
lake,”  said  Margery  Burton,  “for  one.  It’s  as 
nice  here  as  it  can  possibly  be  anywhere  dse  I’d 
like  someone  to  go  in  swimming  with  me.” 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


157 


“If  it  isn’t  too  cold  I will,”  cried  Dolly,  eheer-- 
fnlly. 

And  so,  after  the  midday  meal— two  honrs 
afterward,  too,  for  Eleanor  Mercer  was  too  vase 
a Guardian  to  allow  them  to  run  any  risk  by  going 
into  the  water  before  their  food  had  been  thor- 
oughly digested— bathing  suits  were  brought  out, 
and  Margei’y  Burton,  or  Minnehaha,  as  the  one 
who  had  proposed  the  sport,  was  unanimously 
elected  a committee  of  one  to  try  the  water,  and 
see  if  it  was  warm  enough  for  swimming. 

“And  no  tricks,  Margery!”  warned  Dolly.  “I 
know  you,  and  if  you  found  it  was  cold  it  would 
be  just  like  you  to  pretend  it  was  fine  so  that  we’d 
all  get  in  and  be  as  cold  as  you  were  yourself  I ’ ’ 

“I’ll  be  good;  I promise,”  laughed  Margery, 
and,  without  any  preliminary  hesitation  on  the 
water’s  edge,  she  walked  to  the  end  of  the  little 
dock  that  was  used  for  the  boats  and  plunged 
boldly  in.  She  was  a splendid  swimmer,  a fact 
that  had  once,  when  Bessie  had  first  joined  the 
Camp  Fire,  nearly  cost  her  her  life,  for,  seeing 
her  upset,  no  one  except  Bessie  had  thought  it  nec- 
essary to  jump  in  after  her,  and  she  had  actually 
been  slightly  stunned,  so  that  she  had  been  unable 
to  swim. 

But  this  time  there  was  no  accident.  She  dis- 
appeared under  the  water  with  a beautiful  for- 
ward dive,  and  plunged  along  for  many  feet  be- 
fore she  rose  to  the  surface,  laughing,  and  shak- 


158 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 


ing  the  water  out  of  her  eyes.  Then,  treading 
water,  she  called  to  the  group  on  the  dock. 

‘Ht’s  all  right  for  everyone  hut  Dolly,  I think,” 
she  cried.  “I’m  afraid  it  would  he  too  cold  for 
her.  I like  it;  I think  it’s  great!” 

“You  can’t  fool  me,”  said  Dolly,  and,  without 
any  more  delay,  she  too  plunged  in.  But  she 
rose  to  the  surface  at  once,  gasping  for  hreath, 
and  looking  about  for  Margery. 

“Why,  it’s  as  cold  aS  ice!”  she  exclaimed. 
<<XJgh!  I’m  nearly  frozen  to  death!  Margery, 
why  didn’t  you  tell  me  it  was  so  cold?” 

“I  did,  stupid!”  laughed  Margery.  “I  said 
it  was  warm  enough  for  me,  hut  that  I was  afraid 
it  would  he  too  cold  for  you,  didn’t  I?” 

“I— I thought  you  were  just  fooling  me;  you 
knew  I’d  never  let  the  others  go  in  if  I didn’t!” 

“It’s  not  my  fault  if  you  wouldn’t  believe  me. 
All  I promised  was  to  tell  you  whether  it  was  cold 
or  not ! Come  on,  you  girls ! It  is  cold,  hut  you 
won’t  mind  it  after  you’ve  been  in  for  a minute!” 

“Look  out!  Give  me  room  for  a dive!”  cried 
Eleanor  Mercer,  suddenly  appearing  from  her 
tent.  “I  know  this  water;  I’ve  been  in  it  every 
year  since  I was  a lot  smaller  than  you.  I’m 
afraid  of  it  every  year  the  first  time  I go  in,  hut 
how  I do  love  it  afterward ! ’ ’ 

And,  running  at  full  speed,  she  sped  down  to 
the  edge  of  the  dock,  leaped  up  and  turned  a 
somersault,  making  a beautiful  dive  that  filled  th0 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


15^ 


girls  who  were  fetill  dry  with  envy.  And  a moment 
later  they  were  all  in,  swimming  happily,  and  en- 
joying themselves  immensely.  All,  that  is,  except. 
Zara,  who  could  not  swim. 

“Oh,  I wish  I could  dive  like  that.  Miss 
Eleanor ! ’ ’ exclaimed  Bessie,  who  had  been  one  of 
the  first  to  go  into  the  water. 

“Oh,  that’s  nothing;  you  can  learn  easily, 
Bessie.  You  swim  better  than  any  of  us.  Isn’t 
this  water  cold  for  you?  I should  think  you 
wouldn’t  be  used  to  it.  All  the  others  have  been 
in  pretty  cold  water  before  noAV.” 

“Oh,  so  have  I!  You  see,  around  Hedgeville 
we  used  to  go  into  , the  regular  swimming  holes, 
and  they  never  get  very  warm.  There ’s  no  beach, 
you  just  go  in  off  the  bank,  and  most  of  the  swim- 
ming holes  haA^e  trees  all  around  them  so  that 
they’re  shady,  and  the  sun  doesn’t  strike  them. 
They’re  in  the  shade  ail  the  time,  and  that  keeps- 
the  water  cold.  This  is  warmer  than  that,  ever 
so  much.” 

“I  tell  you  what  we’ll  do,  girls;  we’ll  fix  up  a 
spring-board  and  have  some,  lessons  in  real  diving. 
Wouldn’t  that  be  fun?” 

“It  certainly  would!  I’d  love  to  be  able  to 
do  a backward  dive!” 

“Well,  this  is  a good  place  to  learn;  no  one 
around  to  make  you  nervous,  and  good  deep 
water.’  It’s  sixteen  or  seventeen  feet  off  that  dock, 
all  the  time,  and  that’s  deep  enough  for  almost 


160  THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIELS 

any  diving;  for  any  tliat  we’re  likely  to  do,  cer- 
tainly. ’ ’ 

Later  they  talked  it  over  again,  wken  tliey  kad 
dried  and  resnmed  tlie  clothes  they  wore  about 
the  camp,  and  Eleanor  Mercer,  her  enthusiasm 
warming  her  cheeks,  told  them  something  they 
had  not  heard  even  a hint  of  as  yet. 

“A  friend  of  mine  is  scoutmaster  of  a troop 
of  Boy  Scouts,”  she  said.  “And  he  has  teased 
me,  sometimes,  about  our  work.  He  says  we  just 
imitate  the  Boy  Scouts,  and  that  we  just  pre- 
tend we’re  camping  out  and  doing  all  the  things 
they  do.  Well,  I told  him  that  some  time  we’d 
have  a contest  with  them,  and  show  them;  a reg- 
ular field  day.  And,  just  for  fun,  we  made  up  a 
sort  of  list  of  events.” 

“Oh,  what  were  they?” 

“Well,  we  planned  to  start  in,  all  even,  some 
morning,  and  make  a regular  trip,  cook  two  meals, 
and  come  back.  And  on  the  way  we  were  to  di- 
vide into  parties;  there  are  three  patrols  in  his 
troop,  you  know,  and  we  could  divide  up  the  same 
way.  The  parties  were  to  keep  in  touch  with  one 
another  by  smoke  signals— they’re  made  with 
blankets— and  there  was  to  be  a fire-making  con- 
test, to  see  which  could  make  fire  quickest  without 
matches.  And,  oh,  lots  of  other  things.” 

“That  would  be  fine.”  - 

“Then  I got  reckless,  I think.  I said  my  girls 
could  beat  his  boys  in  the  water— that  we  could 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


161 


swim  better— I meant  more  usefully,  not  just 
faster,  in  a race,  because  I think  they’d  beat  us 
easily  in  just  a plain  race.  And  I’m  afraid  I 
boasted  a little.” 

'‘I  bet  you  didn’t;  I bet  we  can  do  just  as  well 
as  any  old  Boy  Scouts!”  exclaimed  Dolly.  “I 
wish  we  just  had  the  chance,  that’s  all.” 

“Well,  you  have,”  said  Eleanor,  with  a smile. 
^‘That’s  what  I’m  trying  to  tell  you,  girls.  Mr. 
Hastings  is  over  at  Third  Lake  right  now  with 
one  patrol  of  his  troop.  He  got  there  yesterday 
and  the  way  I ha;ppened  to  hear  about  it  was  that 
he  was  on  his  way  over  yesterday  morning— he 
got  in  ahead  of  the  boys— to  help  us  look  for 
Dolly  and  Bessie,  when  they  were  found.” 

“Oh,  that’s  fine!  And  shall  we  have  that  field 
day?” 

“Later  on,  before  we  go  home,  yes.  But  he 
began  teasing  me  again  yesterday,  and  I told  him 
we’d  have  a water  carnival  any  time  he  wanted  to 
bring  his  boys  over.  And  he  said  they’d  come 
Saturday.  ’ ’ 

“We’ll  have  to  get  ready  and  show  them  what 
we  can  do,  then,”  said  Margery  Burton,  with  de- 
termination in  her  voice.  “My  brother’s  a Boy 
Scout,  and  I know  just  what  they’re  like;  they 
think  we’re  just  the  same  as  all  the  other  girls 
they  know.  I tell  you  what  would  be  fun ; to  get 
up  a baseball  team.” 

“Maybe  we’ll  try  that  later,”  said  Eleanor. 


162 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  GIRLS 


“But  now  we  want  to  be  ready  for  Satur- 

day. So  111  teach  you  everything  I can.  And 
I’m  quite  sure  we  can  beat  them  in  a life-saving 
drill;  their  three  best  against  our  three.  We’d 
have  you,  Margery,  and  Bessie,  and  Dolly  Ran- 
som.” 

So  it  was  agreed,  and  they  all  began  to  prac- 
tice. 

“I  wish  I could  do  something,”  said  Zara,  wist- 
fully. “But  I don’t  believe  I could  learn  to  swim 
before  Saturday.  ’ ’ 

“You  could  leaim  to  keep  yourself  afloat,”  said 
Margery.  “But  that  wouldn’t  be  much  good,  of 
course.  You’d  rather  not  go  in  at  all,  I suppose, 
unless  you  could  really  swim.” 

“I  know  what  I..could  do,  though,”  said  Zara, 
suddenly,  after  she  had  watched  Bessie  go  through 
the  life  saying  drill.  But  she  would  not  confide 
her  idea  to  anyone  but  Miss  Mercer^  who  looked 
more  than  doubtful  when  she  heard/it. 

“I  don’t  know,  Zara,”  she  said,  “I’ll  see.  It 
seems  a little  risky.  But  I’ll  think  it  over.  It 
would  be  splendid,  but,  well,  we’ll  see.” 

Speed  swimming,  pure  racing,  was  barred  when 
Saturday  came.  But  Avith  Scoutmaster  Hastings 
and  Miss  Mercer  as  referees,  and  three  summer 
visitors  from  the  Loon  Pond  Hotel,  who  had  no 
prejudice  in  favor  of  either  side  as  judges,  several 
contests  were  arranged  that  called  for  skill  rather 
than  strength.  - 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


“In  this  diving,”  Hastings  explained  to  the 
judges,  “what  we  want  to  figure  on  is  the  way 
they  do  it.  If  a dive  is  graceful,  and  the  divei 
strikes  the  water  true,  going  straight  down,  with 
arms  and  legs  held  close  together,  you  give  so 
many  points  for  that.  I’ll  make  each  dive  first; 
that  will  serve  as  a model,  you  see.” 

Scoutmaster  Hastings  was  not  speaking  in  a 
boastful  manner.  He  was  a noted  diver,  and  had 
won  prizes  and  medals  in  many  meets  for  his 
skill.  And,  when  everything  was  arranged,  he 
did  all  the  standard  dives  from  the  spring-board 
at  the  end  of  the  dock,  and  three  members  of  each 
organization  followed  him. 

Bessie  had  taken  remarkably  well  to  these  new 
tricks,  as  she  considered  them.  Her  powers  as  a 
swimmer  no  one  had  questioned,  but  it  was  re- 
markable to  see  how  quickly  she  had  acquired  the 
ability  to  dive  well  and  gracefully.  And,  to  the 
surprise  and  chagrin  of  the  Boy  Scouts,  who  had 
expected,  as  boys  always  do,  when  they  are  pitted 
against  girls,  to  win  so  easily  that  they  could 
afford  to  be  magnanifnous,  and  to  abstain  from 
gloating,  the  judges  were  unanimous  in  deciding 
that  she  had  done  better  than  any  of  the  six  com- 
petitors in  all  five  of  the  standard  dives  in  which 
Hastings  showed  the  way. 

As  there  were  six  competitors,  the  judges 
awarded  six  points  for  first  place  in  each  dive, 
five  for  second,  four  for  third,  three  for  fourth. 


164 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  CIELS 


two  for  fiftii,  and  one  for  sixtli  place.  And  in 
two  of  the  dives,  second  place  went  to  Margery 
Burton,  while  one  of  the  Boy  Scouts,  Jack  Perry, 
was  second  in  the  other  four. 

To  the  disgust  of  the  other  hoys,  Margery  was 
placed  third  in  the  four  dives  in  which  Jack  Perry 
heat  her,  and  Holly,  a good,  hut  not  a really  won- 
derful diver,  was  fifth  in  every  one  of  the  dives, 
heating  at  least  one  hoy  in  each.  So  sixty-six 
points  altogether  went  to  the  Camp  Fire  Girls, 
while  the  Boj^  Scouts,  who  had  expected  to  finish 
one,  two,  three,  had  to  he  content  with  forty-eight, 
and  were  soundly  heaten. 

“That  girl  that  was  first  is  a wonder,”  said 
Hastings  admiringly  to  Miss  Mercer.  “I  take 
it  all  hack,  Eleanor.  But  I didn’t  think  you’d 
have  anyone  as  good  as  she  is.  Why,  she ’s  better 
than  j"ou  are,  and  I always  thought  you  were  the 
nearest  to  a fish  of  any  girl  I ever  saw  in  the 
water.  She  could  win  the  woman’s  championship 
with  a little  more  practice.” 

“Mayhe  you  won’t  crow  so  much  over  us  after 
this,”  said  Eleanor,  with  a laugh. 

“Not  about  the  diving,  certainly,”  said  Hast- 
ings, generously.  “But  that’s  tricky,  after  all. 
The  life  saving  is  going  to  he  different.  There 
strength  figures  more.  I really  think  my  hoys 
ought  to  give  a handicaj)  in  that.” 

“Not  a hit  of  it,”  said  Eleanor.  “Women  have 
been  taking  handicaps  from  men  too  long. 


AT  LONG  LAKE 


16& 


They’ve  got  so  that  they  think  they  can’t  do  any- 
thing as  well  as  a man.  This  Camp  Fire  move- 
ment is  going  to  show  you  that  that’s  all  over 
and  done  with.” 

“Well,  we’ll  go  through  the  tests  first,”  said 
Hastings.  “Then  your  girls  will  know  what 
they’ve  got  to  beat,  anyhow.” 

The  tests  for  life  saving  were  to  be  conducted 
on  a time  basis.  From  a boat  a certain  distance 
out  in  the  lake  a boy  or  a girl  was  to  be  thrown 
overboard,  and,  at  the  same  moment,  the  com- 
petitor was  to  leap  in  after  the  one  who  repre- 
sented the  victim  and  take  him  or  her  to  shore, 
the  winners  being  those  who  did  it  in  the  shortest 
time.  Again,  as  there  were  to  be  six  competitors, 
the  first  place  was  to  count  six  points,  the  second, 
five,  and  so  on. 

First,  the  boys  went  out  and  went  through  their 
exercise  in  fine  style.  Although  the  boy  who 
played  the  part  of  victim  could  swim,  he  made  no 
move  to  help  himself,  simply  staying  perfectly 
still  and  letting  his  “rescuer”  take  him  in. 

Then,  when  the  three  boys  had  finished,  with 
cnly  five  seconds  between  the  fastest  and  the 
slowest,  Eleanor  and  Hastings  rowed  out  with  the 
three  who  represented  the  Camp  Fire  Girls,  and, 
as  “victim,”  Zara! 

Zara  had  insisted. 

“I  really  would  be  disowned  if  they  didn’t  save 
me,”  she  said,  “so  it  will  be  a real  test.” 


166 


THE  CAMP  FIEE  GIRLS 


with,  that  added  spur,  each  of  the  three 
girls  actually  managed  to  heat  the  fastest  time  of 
the  boys.  Margery  was  first,  Bessie  was  second, 
apd  Dolly  third.  Hastings,  as  soon  as  he  dis- 
covered that  Zara  could  not  swim,  was  full  of 
admiration. 

“That’s  the  nerviest  thing  I ever  heard  of,”  he 
said.  “Of  course  they  did  better.  But  it’s  your 
‘victim’  that  deserves  the  credit.  She’s  certainly 
plucky.” 

“So  I really  did  help,  didn’t  I?”  said  Zara. 
“My,  I was  seared  at  first.  But  then  I knew  the 
girls  wouldn’t  let  me  go  down,  and,  after  the 
first  time,  it  wasn’t  so  bad.” 

“Well,  you  gave  us  a surprise,  and  a licking,” 
said  Scoutmaster  Hastings.  “Bui  we’ll  be  ready 
for  you  when  we  have  that  field  day.  How  about 
some  day  next  week?” 

“Splendid,”  said  Eleanor.  “And  we’ll  give 
you  a chance  to  get  even.” 


FAR  PAST  THE;  FRONTIER 

By  |AMES  A.  BRADEN 

The  sub-titJe  “Two  Boy  Pioneers”  indicates  the  nature  of  this 
story — that  it  has  to  do  with  the  days  when  the  Ohio  Valley  and 
the  Northwest  country  were  sparsely  settled.  Such  a topic  is  an 
unfailing  fund  of  interest  to  boys,  especially  when  involving  a 
couple  of  stalwart  young  men  who  leave  the  East  to  make  their 
fortunes  and  to  incur  untold  dangers. 

“ Strong,  vigorous,  healthy,  manly.” — Seattle  Times, 

CONNECTICUT  BOYS  IN 
THE  WESTERN  RESERVE 

By  JAMES  A.  BRADEN  ' 

The  author  once  more  sends  his  heroes  toward  the  setting  sun. 
“ In  all  the  glowing  enthusiasm  of  youth,  the  youngsters  seek  their 
fortunes  in  the  great,  fertile  wilderness  of  northern  Ohio,  and 
eventually  achieve  fair  success,  though  their  progress  is  hindered 
and  sometimes  halted  by  adventures  innumerable.  It  is  a lively, 
wholesome  tale,  never  dull,  and  absorbing  in  interest  for  boys  who 
love  the  fabled  life  of  the  frontier.” — Chicago  Tribune, 

THE  TRAIL  of  THE  SENECA 

By  JAMES  A.  BRADEN 

In  which  .we  follow  the  romantic  careers  of  John  Jerome  and 
Return  Kingdom  a little  farther. 

These  two  self-reliant  boys  are  living  peaceably  in  their  cabin 
on  the  Cuyahoga  when  an  Indian  warrior  is  found  dead  in  the 
woods  nearby.  The  Seneca  accuses  John  of  witchcraft.  This  means 
death  at  the  stake  if  he  is  captured.  They  decide  that  the  Seneca’s 
charge  is  made  to  shield  himself,  and  set  out  to  prove  it.  Mad 
Anthony,  then  on  the  Ohio,  comes  to  their  aid,  but  all  their  efforts 
prove  futile  and  the  lone  cabin  is  found  in  ashes  on  their  return. 


CAPTIVES  T nmmK 

By  JAMES  A.  BRADEN 


JAMES 

A tale  of  frontier*  life,  and  how  three  children — two  boys  and  a 
girl — attempt  to  reach  the  settlements  in  a canoe,  but  are  captured 
by  the  Indians.  A common  enough  occurrence  in  the  days  of  our 
great-grandfathers  has  been  woven  into  a thrilling  story. 


BOOTD  IN  CLOTH,  each  handsomely 
illustrated,  cloth,  postpaid  « 


$1 


C/>e  Saalfield  TttbUshin^  Co, 

AKRON,  OHIO 


FICTION  FOR  GIRLS 


BETTY,  The  SCRIBE 

By  LILIAN  TURNER 
Drawings  by  Katharine  Hayward  Greenland 

Betty  is  a brilliant,  talented,  impulsive  seventeen-year-old  girl, 
who  is  suddenly  required  to  fill  her,  mother’s  place  at  the  head  of  a 
household,  with  a literary,  impractical  father  to  manage. 

Betty  writes,  too,  and  every  time  she  mounts  her  Pegasus  dis- 
aster follows  for  home  duties  are  neglected.  Learning  of  one  of 
these  lapses,  her  elder  sister  comes  home.  Betty  storms  and  refuses 
to  share  the  honors  until  she  remembers  that  this  means  long  hours 
free  to  devote  to  her  beloved  pen.  She  finally  moves  to  the  city 
to  begin  her  career  in  earnest,  and  then  — well,  then  comes  the 
story. 

“Miss  Turner  is  Miss  Alcott’s  true  successor.  The  same  healthy, 
spirited  tone  is  visible  which  boys  and  girls  recognized  in  LITTLE 
MEN  and  LITTLE  WOMEN.” --  Bookman 

CLOTH,  1 2 mo,  illustrated,  - 50  cts* 

Eli2ak.beth  Hobacrt 
Sk.i  Exeter  H 1 1 

By  JEAN  K . BAIRD 

Illustrated  by  R.  G.  Vosburgh 

A spirited  story  of  every-day  boarding-school  life  that  girls 
like  to  read.  Full  of  good  times  and  girlish  fun, 

Elizabeth  enters  the  school  and  loses  no  time  in  becoming  one 
of  the  leading  spirits.  She  entertains  at  a midnight  spread,  which 
is  recklessly  conducted  under  the  very  nose  of  the  preceptress,  who 
is  “scalped”  in  order  to  be  harmless,  for  every  one  knows  she 
would  never  venture  out  minus  her  front  hailt ; she  champions  an 
ostracized  student ; and  leads  in  a daring  plan  to  put  to  rout  the  Se- 
niors’ program  for  class  day. 

CLOTH,  i2mo,  illustrated,  - 50  cts. 

Books  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price. 


Saalfield  Tubti^hinj^  Co,, 

AKRON,  OHIO 


BillyWhiskers  Series 

BY 

FRANCES  TREGO  MONTGOMERY 

Billy  "Whiskers  — frolicsome,  mlsehief-making,  adven- 
ture-loving Billy  Whiskers  — is  the  friend  of  every  boy  and 
girl  the  country  over,  and  the  things  that  happen  to  this 
wonderful  goat  and  his  numerous  animal  friends  make  the 
best  sort  of  reading  for  them. 

As  one  reviov/er  aptly  puts  it,  these  stories  are  ^^just 
full  of  fun  and  good  times/’  for  Mrs.  Montgomery,  the 
author  of  them,  ,has  the  happy  faculty  of  knowing  what  the 
small  boy  and  his  sister  like  in  the  way  of  fiction. 

TITLES 

BILLY  mm  WfllSKERS’  OMFIDCflliaiSEM 

BILLY  KIDS  BILLY  WHISKERS’  VACATION 

BILLY  WHISKERS,  M.  BILLY  WHISKERS  KIDNAPED 

BSLIY  WHISKERS’  TRAVELS  BILLY  WHISKERS’  TWIN’S 

BILLY  WHISKERS  AT  THE  CSRCUS  BILLY  WHISKERS  B AN  AEROPLINE 
BILLY  WHISKERS  AT  THE  FAIR  BILLY  WHISKERS  IN  TOWN 
BILLY  WHISKERS^  FRIENDS  BILLY  WHISKERS  IN  PANAMA 

BILLY  Whiskers,  jr.  and  bis  chums 

Each  Volume  a Quarto,  Bound  in  Boards,  Cover  and  Six 
Full  Page  Drawings  in  Colors,  Postpaid  Price  $1.00 

j The  Saallisld  PllbllshM-^  Co.,  Akron,  Ohio 


